Wind in the grass - re-write
by Kindle-the-Stars
Summary: Eomer/OC - a girl falls into Middle Earth, but instead of a 'joins the Fellowship' story she stays in Rohan as the trouble with Isengard and Wormtongue brews. Her knowledge is a dangerous weapon - but she has a strong protector. This is a re-write of the incomplete story I started years ago, it will be very different from the original.
1. The King's Men

_**Chapter 1 - The King's Men**_

* * *

_**Is seo forðgesceaft digol and dyrne.**_  
_The course of the future is hidden and secret._

_Maxims II_

* * *

Charlotte Grey threw open the curtains of the small, quaint Bed-and-Breakfast in which she had spent the night and gazed out for a long moment over the rolling green Cotswold hills. Finding the ancient latch, she struggled with it briefly before pushing the window wide and leaning out. The cool morning air rushed into the room, filling it with the scent of the fresh garden below and the light trill of birdsong.

She smiled to herself, pleased with how bright and clear the day was, before picking up her camera and notebook from the bed and putting both in a shoulder bag. She pulled on her sturdy walking boots and headed downstairs.

The proprietors of the Bed-and-Breakfast were an elderly couple who did not have any other guests currently staying. As such, she joined them for breakfast and they were more than happy to hear about her research and what had brought her to this little corner of Oxfordshire.

She was a Masters student at the University of Oxford, studying history and writing her dissertation on the Neolithic stones that dotted the English countryside. It was Reading Week in the second year of her studies and she had taken the opportunity to drive out of the city for a few days and see some of the local landmarks.

Her destination today was the Rollright Stones, in particular the King's Men stone circle. It was less than an hour's walk through the picturesque Cotswold countryside from her Bed-and-Breakfast. She only saw a few people on her way, a couple of dog walkers and a jogger.

Once more, Charlotte breathed deeply as she walked. It was rare that she got to enjoy the countryside like this. She spent most of her time in the city, many of her friends being based there. She only really ventured to London, where she had grown up, for awkward dinners with her father while her stepmother was out of town.

She reached the Whispering Knight's Stones first, pausing for a long moment to take several pictures and note the direction they faced, before moving onto the stone circle of the King's Men below. She was surprised to find that it was deserted, given that it was a well known tourist spot. She walked through a gap in the stones, likely where some had fallen or been removed in years previously, and stopped in the centre, gazing around her. She found the tallest stone, which her research had told her was the only one to bear a carving, and approached.

Sure enough, she could just make out the carved shield at the top of the stone. She snapped several pictures and then lowered her camera, gazing thoughtfully at the stones as a cool wind started to tug at the hem of her light plaid shirt.

The wind roused her from her musings and she spotted a small bench outside the circle that would be an ideal spot to sit and write up her notes and observations. Making her way towards it, she idly brushed the very tips of her fingers over the dry, ancient surface of one of the stones as she left the circle -

-And suddenly the world shifted.

Bright white light flared around her, and she knew no more.

* * *

Gandalf the Grey sat alone on the pinnacle of Orthanc, his back braced against one of the four spires of the tower. He briefly considered a spell for warmth, but dismissed the idea. His staff had been taken and he could only work small magics without it in his current state of exhaustion; the warmth gained through a spell would not be worth the energy it would cost. Instead, he wrapped his sodden grey cloak tighter around him and hunched into it in a vain attempt to keep out the bitter, biting wind as he brooded on the treachery of Saruman.

Far below him, the previously lush and verdant gardens of Isengard swarmed with torches, small pinpricks of light that were clearly visible in the dark of the night. The acrid smell of smoke and snatches of harsh, guttural shouts caught on the cold wind and were carried up to him. Saruman had recruited orcs from the Misty Mountains to do his bidding and now Isengard was being transformed into a machine of war.

The single hatch in the middle of the pinnacle opened and Saruman himself appeared from below, his black staff in hand. He pierced Gandalf with his dark eyes, taking in his shrunken form and the moisture that dripped from his clothing.

"Have you had time to reconsider your position, my old friend?" the White Wizard asked, his voice deep and melodious.

"I had rather hoped that you had reconsidered yours," Gandalf replied, knowing that his efforts were fruitless but feeling that he must try, for the sake of the long friendship he had borne for the fellow Wizard. "If you are deep in the enemies counsel then there is much you could do to aid us."

Saruman looked steadily down on him. "Against the power of Mordor, there can be no victory," he said in a firm, decisive tone. His voice fairly quavered with power and the moon shone as a queer gleam in the black of his eyes as he spoke of how the world would be in a tone that suffered no doubt. "A new power will rise and the old world will burn in its path; it will come to pass."

Gandalf held his cloak tighter around himself, as if to protect himself from the words of the other Wizard. "No one can see the future clearly," he said, his voice a quiet rasp compared to Saruman's.

"No?" the other Wizard questioned, raising his brows ever so slightly. "Perhaps not … but if you could _hear_ the future spoken, even you would see the wisdom of my path." Saruman smiled knowingly down at him. "I believe you know of what I speak."

Gandalf shook his head, looking up at his old friend. "Such magic is perilous."

"Or perhaps you are merely too weak to seize it," Saruman said derisively, unwilling to hear reason. "With such knowledge at our disposal our victory will be swift."

Turning away in a whirl of white robes, Saruman raised his arms and staff to the sky and started to chant in a deep voice, infused with power. A cold wind rose and swirling white light began to coalesce in the centre of the pinnacle.

"Cease this madness!" Gandalf shouted, surging to his feet, but Saruman continued his chant. A figure began to take form within the white light. Gathering his remaining strength, Gandalf sent out a desperate pulse of magic to disrupt the spell. The wind rose up and the light was borne quickly eastwards, over the horizon and far over the plains of Rohan. The two Wizards watched in silence as the light briefly flared, illuminating the night sky like a flash of lightning, before vanishing completely.

"You _fool_!" Saruman spat, rounding on Gandalf as he sank down to the stone floor of the pinnacle in exhaustion; the magic it had taken to disrupt the spell without a staff had drained him considerably. "Do you know what you have done?"

"You could have torn a hole in the very fabric of the void itself," Gandalf said, his voice faint and weak as his breath came in great gasps.

"All you have achieved is a minor delay in my plans," Saruman said disdainfully, casting his eyes eastwards again and looking out over the great plains of Rohan. "The knowledge I need is out there … and I _will_ find it."

* * *

Charlotte awoke slowly, shivering in the cool night air. She raised her head from where it rested in the grass and looked blearily around her, blinking past the pounding in her head as her eyes adjusted to the unexpected darkness.

The last thing she remembered was being at the King's Men stones, walking in the cool morning sun and brushing her hand against one of the rocks as she headed towards a bench to write up her notes.

Now, however, the stones were nowhere to be seen. Night had fallen and a nearly full moon was casting faint silvery light over what seemed to be plains upon plains of grass.

Slowly, painfully, she got to her feet, every muscle in her body aching fiercely and protesting the movement. She turned carefully in a circle, taking in her surroundings as her heart pounded in her ears and her breath came in short, sharp pants.

Over the course of her research she had come across dozens upon dozens of different folktales and superstitions surrounding the various stone circles across England; a whole chapter of her dissertation was to be dedicated to them. Alongside the theories that stone circles were used to follow the paths of the sun and stars, there were the legends of faeries, portals to hell, mysterious doorways and stargates.

She had always dismissed such things, (people would come up with any explanation for that which they didn't understand, after all, especially the more superstitious and less educated cultures of the past) delving instead into the rich history of the different religious and ceremonial uses of the sites. Now, however, she was forced to accept that the legends may have more than a grain of truth to them. Much as her rational mind rebelled against it, she had felt … _power_ coursing through her when she had brushed her fingers against the stone.

She was no longer in the Cotswolds, that much was obvious, though it begged the question: where was she?

"Hello?" she called hesitantly, her voice coming out faint and raspy. She received no reply, though she hadn't really expected one. She turned in a circle once more, fighting back tears. "Hello?" she called again, louder this time as she peered into the inky darkness.

The only reply was the wind as it rustled the grass. Charlotte wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing them for warmth, and let out a shaky breath. She was not dressed to be out at night; it had been a warm May day back in Oxfordshire and she had not thought to put a jacket on over the shirt she wore.

There was no sign of her bag, nor her camera or notebook either. She stood still for a very long moment, trying not to panic and wondering what on earth she should do. With no ideas forthcoming, she sat down on the grass with her arms wrapped around her, feeling utterly helpless.

She looked up at the sky and her lips parted in a faint gasp. Much of the Cotswolds was considered to be a Dark Sky Site, ideal for stargazing; the previous night she had stood in the garden of the small Bed-and-Breakfast and marvelled at the stars and crescent moon, but this was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was as if someone had spilt glitter across the sky, the bright pinpricks of light flanking the now full, silvery white moon.

She stared up at the sky for a long time, searching for the telltale flashing of aeroplanes or satellites, but saw nothing. She did, however, manage to pick out several familiar constellations; the Plough, the Seven Sisters and Orion's Belt. That was a small measure of comfort.

Suddenly, she caught the sound of a faint but continuous thudding, coming from far in the distance. Charlotte leapt to her feet, looking around her. The thudding grew louder and louder until the ground fairly shook with it, and in the velvet darkness she caught several pinpricks of orange light, like flames.

The lights approached and she quickly realised that the thudding was the hoofbeats of at least a dozen horses. Several of the riders carried flaming torches, getting closer and closer each second, the light seeming to flicker off what appeared to be armour. They were heading right for her.

Charlotte pivoted on the spot as she was quickly surrounded by the horses, her brows drawn together as she took in the armour and weapons they bore. She then made a faint squeaking noise in fear and surprise, suddenly finding herself enclosed within a thicket of spears. She shakily raised her hands in front of her chest in a universal gesture of peace.

One of the riders surged his horse forward and made a harsh demand in an unfamiliar language.

Charlotte took several deep breaths as she stared up into the shadowy face of the man, desperately trying to place the language: it had sounded almost familiar, like the poems she had read and translated while doing an enrichment topic on Old English Literature during her undergraduate degree. Had she somehow fallen through time?

She swallowed hard, finding her tongue. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're saying," she said shakily, her voice coming out very faint. She kept her hands where they were, fearful of making any sudden moves with this many spears pointed in her direction.

"A woman!" the man said, thankfully in English this time, though he had a faintly lilting accent. He passed his spear to one of the other riders and dismounted with practiced ease. Seizing a torch from one of the men, he approached her and held the flickering flames so that he could see her clearly. The other riders did not lower their spears.

The orange light illuminated the man in turn as she looked up at him. He was tall, very tall, and wearing heavy chain mail that was covered with a breastplate, gardbraces and gauntlets of tooled, dark red leather. His head was covered with a helmet that further spoke of the Saxon's, or possibly the Vikings, and had a white horse's tail flowing from the top. Long blond hair was visible beneath the helm. His face was bearded and she could not make out the colour of his eyes as they travelled briefly down the length of her body, taking in her dark blue jeans and light flannel shirt with obvious suspicion.

"What is your name?" the man demanded, towering over her and holding the flame closer so that he could see her face. "What is your business in these lands and why are you out alone?"

She swallowed once more before answering, acutely aware of the spears still surrounding her. "Charlotte Grey," she replied hesitantly. "Who are you?"

The man was silent for a moment, simply looking at her. "An unusual name," he said eventually, then raised a hand to remove his helm, fully revealing his face and dark blond hair. "I am called Eomer, Eommundson, Third Marshal of the Riddermark."

"... _Eomer_?" she said, her brows drawn together and her voice coming out as a faint gasp at the familiar name - she had read the books, seen the films, she couldn't help but recognise it.

"I will ask you again, what is your business in the Riddermark?" Eomer asked, frowning a little at her sudden recognition and clearly beginning to grow even more suspicious of her.

She parted her lips, looking around at the riders with new eyes and wondering how what she suddenly suspected could _possibly_ be true. "The Riddermark as in … Rohan?" she asked, wanting to be sure.

"Of course," Eomer said, his frown deepening even further.

Falling through time she could just about accept, but _this_, falling into a fictional world … that was practically unheard of, certainly it had no part in any of the legends surrounding the stones that she had heard. "Rohan as in … Middle Earth?" she asked, barely audibly, turning in a circle once more to look at the riders behind her and feeling like she was going to faint.

"What is your game, girl?" Eomer -Third Marshal of the Riddermark and future King of Rohan - demanded harshly, taking a step away from her as she looked around. "Are you deliberately playing the fool?"

Charlotte covered her eyes with both trembling hands and shook her head, unable to believe that this was happening. "This is a dream, or a hallucination," she said shakily to herself, her voice muffled by her hands. "Wake up, wake up -"

"Bind her," Eomer's voice said sharply. "We'll take her back to the camp."

Her head snapped up. "What - _hey_!" she said, suddenly grabbed from behind by another rider who had dismounted and quickly forced her hands together in front of her. She twisted wildly, trying to get free. "Get _off_ me -"

"Right wild cat we've got here, my lord," the second man said, quelling her thrashes with ease and tying her wrists tightly with rough rope.

Charlotte continued to fight against the bonds, attempting to escape the man now holding her firmly by the shoulders. "Let me go, I said let me _go_ -" she was forced to walk forward, towards Eomer and his horse. "No, please - _Help_!" she shrieked suddenly, not really expecting anyone to come to her rescue, but screaming nevertheless. "Help, someone -"

"A gag as well, I think," Eomer said mildly as he remounted his horse with the same ease in which he had dismounted.

"No, you - _mmph_!" her protests were cut off as something, possibly a handkerchief, was shoved into her mouth, tied in place with another piece of rope. She thrashed once more as she was lifted bodily from the ground and then the world tilted as she was tossed face forward over a horse's neck and a man's knees. The ground was frighteningly far away and the the horse shifted beneath her. A heavy hand pressed into her back, holding her in place.

She squirmed, still trying in vain to get free, but then froze as she felt something cold against her neck - a knife.

"I wouldn't struggle if I were you," Eomer's voice came from above her.

Charlotte closed her eyes, trying not to cry and focusing on controlling her stomach as the horses were spurred into a trot, carrying her off into the darkness.

* * *

The journey back to the camp was not particularly far, though it took some time in the dark: the moon was bright, but they still kept the horses at a slow trot so as not to injure them in the low light. The girl bounced on Eomer's knees and he thought he'd heard her retch once or twice, possibly even a muffled sob. He wasn't being particularly gentle with her by any means, his suspicions that she may be far more than she appeared having been raised by her queer garb and behaviour.

Not to mention that she appeared to be the only thing for miles around when they had ridden out to discover the source of the strange lights they had seen in the sky.

Reaching their destination, Eomer lightly pushed the girl off his knee. She slid down Firefoot's flank and landed precariously on her feet. She staggered a little, her bound hands clearly throwing her off balance. He quickly dismounted in turn, handing the reins to Halas, one of the younger riders. He seized one of the torches and, taking her by the upper arm, guided the girl over to a fallen log and forced her to sit down.

He held the flame close to her, examining her once again.

She was small, not even having cleared his shoulder when she had been standing in front of him, though her figure, scarcely hidden by the strange blue trousers and unusual patterned shirt she wore, was more curved than most. She didn't appear to have weapons of any kind on her, utterly foolish in these dangerous times. Nor, it seemed, did she have any luggage or provisions with her, despite being deep within the scarcely inhabited plains of the Riddermark.

He had initially thought that the bright red of her hair had been an illusion of the flickering orange flame when he had first seen her out on the plains, appearing as if she had somehow sprung from the grass itself, but looking at her a second time confirmed his original impression of its vivid colour. Her hair was hanging loose, reaching just past her shoulders in large, though rather tousled, red curls.

Her eyes, he noticed, appeared to be light grey and were gazing back at him with a peculiar mixture of fear, defiance and confusion.

Eomer placed the torch to burn on the ground and reached to untie the gag, his hand pausing mid-air for a second when she flinched sharply backwards. She held very still as he untied the rope holding the gag in place and then coughed and spluttered slightly when he pulled the material free.

Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he wordlessly offered her a drink from a water skin. She drank greedily for a moment, then attempted to turn her head away, indicating that she didn't want more.

He released her, balling the material of the gag in one hand and walking slowly around her. "So, _Charlotte Grey_, I will ask you again," he said in a neutral voice, his tongue rolling over the unusual name she had given. "What is your business in the Riddermark?"

She closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly. "Just a dream, just a dream," he heard her murmur nonsensically to herself, her accent strange and unfamiliar. "Wake up, wake _up_ -"

He grasped her hair roughly in one hand and pulled her head back sharply, forcing her to look up into his face. "Does this feel like a dream to you?" he demanded, his patience with her strange behaviour growing thin.

"No," she replied in a strangled voice, her eyes wide and stark with fear.

He released her hair and came around to squat on the ground in front of her, putting him at the same level of her sat on the log. "How did you come to be in Rohan?" he asked once again, gazing intently into her face. She didn't have a horse with her, she had to have been travelling on foot for several days at least to have been that deep in the plains.

Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips and she shook her head ever so slightly. "I don't know, I - I _honestly_ don't know," she said, leaning forward and staring entreatingly at him, as if begging him to believe her. His frown deepened at her words, trying to place her curious accent: she was no Rohir, that much was certain. It was not Gondorian either, nor did she sound like any of the traders who came down from the North. "Middle Earth doesn't _exist_, it's just a story."

Eomer raised his brows slightly at that; that certainly had not been an answer he had anticipated - that said, he had no idea what to anticipate from this highly unusual woman in these strange circumstances. "And where are you from, if not Middle Earth?" he wanted to know, humouring her.

He lifted his chin as he continued to scrutinise her carefully, trying to puzzle her out: she had grey eyes similar to the Dunedain he had met as they passed through these lands, though she lacked their dark colouring and stature. His gaze flicked briefly to the ears peeking through her red hair, noting their rounded tip; not an Elf, then.

"_Normal_ earth - Oxford, England," she replied agitatedly, certainly sounding like she believed what she was saying.

He shook his head slowly, still staring at her. "I have never heard of these places," he said, still no closer to knowing what to make of this foreign girl.

"Of course not," she muttered, briefly lowering her gaze.

He watched as she bit her lip, dragging it slowly through her teeth. She looked around the camp, taking in the men eating or tending to the horses, before returning her gaze to him. She swallowed hard and blinked at him, her eyes very bright in the flickering torchlight "You do not believe me," she said quietly, her voice cracking ever so slightly; it was not a question.

"No, I do not believe you," replied simply. There was a long pause, then he decided to change tactic with his questioning, not getting particularly far with her origins and purpose. "Did you cause the lights we saw in the sky?" he asked, watching her carefully for her response

She frowned in genuine confusion and shook her head. "I don't know what you mean," she said desperately. "I was just standing at the stones, the King's Men stones, and then I was _here_ and it was dark," she told him, sounding utterly bewildered. "_Please_, you have to believe me."

Eomer rose to his feet, scowling deeply down at the girl. The Rohirrim as a people were known for being true-hearted and honest. They were not known to lie, and so could not easily be deceived. Something about the girl's manner rang true, though her words were so outlandish that he could scarce credit them.

"My lord," Winfred, one of his riders, said as he approached, handing him some food; Eomer noticed that he looked suspiciously at the girl before retreating back to the fire. He was not the only one, there were several riders casting curious looks their way.

He looked back down at her, paused for a moment, and then wordlessly offered her the bowl.

She shook her head, looking for all the world like she was about to cry.

Her shoulders were hunched forward over her bound hands, though her chin was raised as she looked up at him. Her grey eyes, bright with unshed tears, peeked through the slightly tangled curtains of her russet hair, reminding him of a frightened animal peering through the bracken. "Please," she said quietly, her voice coming out as a whisper. "Please … What's going to happen to me?"

"One way or another, you are going to tell me the truth of where you come from and your purpose here," he told her plainly, unsatisfied with what she had told him thus far. "If I find that you mean harm to Rohan then I will act accordingly, if you do not mean us harm then you will be escorted to the border, never to cross into the Riddermark again."

A single tear spilled down her cheek. "But I'm telling the _truth_," she whispered helplessly, her voice cracking once again.

"We will see," Eomer said, hoping that morning would cast greater light on this highly unusual situation. He would take her to Aldburg and question her there; if necessary, he might have to take her to Edoras and let the King decide what was to be done with her. "I advise that you take this night to think on the conversation we will have come tomorrow," he added, and then left her alone to go and sit by the fire with his men, taking the bowl of stew with him. He was not worried that she would try to run, not with her hands bound. Besides the horses would let them know quickly enough, even if the watchers did not.

Many of the riders had already bedded down, wrapping themselves in their cloaks and sleeping on the cold, hard ground, but there were still several men sat around the fire.

"My lord?" Eothain asked questioningly as he approached, glancing pointedly at the girl.

Eomer shook his head, indicating that he would not speak of her yet, and set his mind to eating the stew that had been made. Once he had finished he glanced back at the girl; she had slid down the log to sit on the ground with her back braced against the wood, her bound hands hugging her legs and her head lowered to her knees. Ignoring her obvious distress, he went to check on Firefoot, making sure his stallion had been picketed properly.

He spent some time rubbing the horse down with one of the brushes he kept in his saddle bag, losing himself in the familiar, monotonous routine as he thought on the girl. She was more than she appeared, that much was obvious, and she had yet to give any true reason for why she was out alone, miles from any dwellings, in the middle of the night.

She also seemed genuinely fearful and disoriented, though he could not credit her insistence that the very world was not real - perhaps she had been the victim of some trauma that had confused her, yet she seemed unharmed. Her garb and manner were both also strange and, thus far, she was also the only source of the queer, white lights that had lit up the night sky that they had found.

He glanced at her again as he returned to the camp. She had raised her head and was was watching him, still hugging her knees tightly, illuminated by the torch he had left burning steadily on the ground beside her. Her tongue darted out once more to wet her dry lips and he noticed that she was shivering in her bonds. "Excuse me?" she said softly, appearing not to want to wake the sleeping riders around her.

"What?" he asked as he approached, keeping his voice low.

"I need … I need to go to the bathroom," she said quietly, so quietly that he nearly didn't catch it.

He snorted. "There are no bathrooms out on the plains, girl," he pointed out roughly and her lip twisted in exasperation at his response.

"You know damn well what I mean," she retorted, showing the first hint of spark since Eothain had bound and gagged her.

Eomer huffed out a breath and reached out to grasp her by the upper arm to pull her up. She almost stumbled as he guided her firmly over to the edge of the camp, where the latrine had been dug, but kept her footing. Spinning her around so that she was facing him, he took her hands and deftly undid the ropes surrounding her wrists.

"You have two minutes," he said, jerking his chin at the latrine and ignoring the way she seemed to wrinkle her nose at the dug pit. "Do not think to flee, you will be run down."

He left her at the edge of the camp, knowing that the horses would alert them if she tried to leave, and looked around at the sleeping riders. They did not have any spare bedrolls, so he huffed out another breath and grabbed one of the saddle blankets that was not being used, laying it out near the fire.

The girl crept back into the firelight of the camp, rubbing her wrists slightly and gazing warily around her, also taking in the sleeping forms of the men. She caught his eye and Eomer nodded his head at the blanket covering the cold ground. She took the hint and, after looking cautiously at him for a long moment, as if wondering if he was going to rebind her hands, curled up into a tight ball, wrapping the meagre edges of the blanket around herself as much as possible.

Eomer stayed up, sitting by the fire as he thought deeply on the strange events of the night. It wasn't long before he heard the quiet, muffled gasp of someone who was trying very hard not to cry.

He looked over at the girl, who was curled up with her back to him. It was not hard to see the way her slim shoulders jerked with every suppressed sob, not to mention the tremors of cold that occasionally wracked her frame.

He sighed deeply, stood up and pulled off his cloak; it was made of dark green, heavy material and embroidered at the edges with silver and gold thread, marking his rank as a Marshal of the House of Eorl. He had the warmth of the fire and the late summer night did not yet hold the bite of winter in the air despite the rapidly approaching autumn. "Here," he said brusquely, tossing the cloak over her.

She sat up in surprise as the cloak unexpectedly covered her, turning around to look at him as he retreated back to the fire. "... Thank you," she said quietly, her voice slightly husky from her tears.

He glanced back at her, nodded his head once, and then sat down beside the fire once more. She wrapped the cloak around her as tightly as she could, this time lying facing him.

Knowing he would not find rest with such an enigma before him, he passed the long hours of the night smoothing a whetstone over Guthwine's already keen edge as he pondered, occasionally pausing to look down the length of the sword to assess his work.

He tried his hardest to ignore the eyes that were peering at him from beneath his own cloak, the dying flames of the fire reflected eerily in them as she watched him.

* * *

**Thoughts?**


	2. Aldburg

**Chapter 2 - Aldburg**

* * *

"_**Soþ hit sylf acyþeð."**__  
_"_Truth will make itself known."  
Durham Proverbs_

* * *

Gandalf wearily circled the pinnacle of Orthanc, keeping moving to try and stop the cold from leeching into his bones. Every so often he would pause and gaze Eastwards over Rohan, contemplating his actions. He had not stopped Saruman's spell, merely disrupted it. The focal point of the magic had shifted and now there was a person from beyond the void somewhere in Middle Earth.

A faint blush of pink was just starting to lighten the sky to the West, heralding the oncoming dawn, when he heard a harsh cry. Turning quickly, he saw the silhouette of a giant eagle against the setting moon. As he flew closer he recognised him as Gwaihir the Windlord, swiftest and greatest of the eagles. He held up a hand in greeting and waited for his approach, a small flicker of hope kindling in his heart.

The eagle alighted on one of the four spires of Orthanc and gazed at Gandalf with a great, yellow eye.

"Greetings Gandalf," Gwaihir said in the tongues of men, ruffling his feathers. "Radagast the Brown bade me come to Orthanc to deliver messages of great importance to you and Saruman the White."

"Alas, Saruman has betrayed the White Council," Gandalf reported quickly, knowing that Gwaihir could be discovered and driven away at any moment. "He lured me here under false pretenses and then revealed his true colours. I am a prisoner here."

"This is treachery indeed, though I can aid you, my friend," the eagle said, descending to the flat of the pinnacle. "Climb onto my back and I will bear you away."

Gandalf climbed onto his back and Gwaihir was airborne within moments, ascending on an updraft away from Orthanc. Gandalf looked back at the pinnacle upon which he had been prisoner for many days and breathed a sigh of relief as the wind whipped at his beard and clothes.

"How far can you bear me?" he asked the eagle.

"Many leagues," Gwaihir replied. "But not to the ends of the earth. I was sent to bear tidings, not burdens."

"Then I must have a steed on land, and a steed surpassingly swift, for I have never had such a need of haste before!"

"Then I shall bear you to Edoras, where the Lord of Rohan sits in his hall, for that is not very far off," Gwaihir said.

"No, wait!" Gandalf cried, thinking of Saruman's magic. "Bear me South, to Aldburg. I must ask the riders of the Eastmark to take on a task of great importance," he said; he did not have the time to seek the recipient of Saruman's magic, and so decided to delegate this task to the Riders of Rohan.

Gwaihir wordlessly tilted his wing, changing direction ever so slightly.

"Are the Men of Rohan still to be trusted, do you think?" Gandalf asked, his trust having been shaken by Saruman's treachery.

"They pay a tribute of horses and send many yearly to Mordor, or so it is said," the eagle told him. "But they are not yet under the yoke."

"No, I do not believe that to be true," Gandalf said with conviction. "The Rohirrim love their horses next to their own kin - they would not willingly send them to Mordor."

"But if Saruman has betrayed us as you say, their doom cannot long be delayed," Gwaihir pointed out.

Gandalf had no reply to this, and the two flew on in silence with the dawn growing behind them.

* * *

Charlotte woke slowly to the sound of people talking in an unfamiliar language around her. She blinked open her eyes, shivering slightly despite the heavy cloak smelling of sweat, damp and horses that covered her. She stayed very still, keeping her eyes half closed as she warily watched the men - the Riders of Rohan - preparing breakfast and dismantling the camp in the misty, pale dawn light.

She had desperately hoped that it had been a dream, but the very real ache in her back from sleeping on the hard ground and the cold that had seeped into her bones told her that was not the case.

Somehow, she didn't know how it could be possible, she was in Middle Earth.

She jumped as she felt a hand grasp her shoulder from behind and turned around.

Eomer was crouched over her, a deep frown on his face. "Come, time to get up," he said brusquely, then quickly moved off to see to some other job around the camp.

Charlotte sat up, shivering even more as the cloak fell off her, exposing her to the chill of the dawn air. She clambered to her feet and twisted slightly, trying to alleviate the ache in her back. She received several curious, even suspicious, looks from the men, but no one tried to approach her. Not knowing what to do, she picked up Eomer's cloak and bundled it in her arms as she looked about her.

It was strange watching the men dismantle the camp and saddle their horses. Her historically trained eyes roved over their armour, helmets and weapons; many of the shapes reminded her of Saxon, Viking and even Norse weaponry she had seen. Some of the intricate knotwork spoke of Celtic imagery, whereas the repeated horse motifs she saw seemed unique to them.

Her musings were interrupted by a rider approaching her. She recognised him as the one who had bound her hands the previous night and eyed him nervously; he was older than Eomer and not as tall, though shared the same blond hair that seemed prevalent in Rohan. "Here," he said quietly in English, offering her a hunk of bread and a water skin.

She nodded her head in thanks and the Rider moved away towards the horses without another word. She took a small bite out of the slightly stale bread. It sat like a stone in her stomach, her anxiety and confusion stealing any appetite she might have had despite her hunger.

She forced herself to take another bite, then another, before washing it down with water from the skin. Around her, the men had all finished rolling up bedrolls and dousing the fire. Eomer was calling to break camp and they were all mounting up.

Eomer caught her eye from where he was standing by his massive, dappled grey horse and beckoned her over.

Wordlessly, she approached and handed him his cloak. He swung it round his shoulders and then pulled a length of rope from his saddlebag, turning back to face her.

"Your hands," he said simply.

Charlotte looked up at him, her mouth pulled into an upset frown at the lack of trust - not that she'd really given him much of a reason to trust her, she probably wouldn't if she were in his position. "I'm not going to try anything, you know," she told him quietly as she obediently raised her wrists between them, her palms together; it felt like an oddly vulnerable position.

"I do not trust you not to try to pull one of my knives while we ride," Eomer replied bluntly, binding her wrists in front of her, though not as tightly as the previous night, she noticed. Finished with this task, he looked down at her for a long moment. She saw in the pale morning light that his eyes were a true hazel, a blend of amber and green.

He then surprised her by dropping to one knee, his hands linked together in front of him.

She blinked at him and he nodded his head pointedly at the huge horse beside her. Realising that he was going to help her mount, she gingerly looked from his hands, to the horse, to the saddle, still not entirely sure what to do since she had never ridden a horse before.

Clearly losing his patience, he sighed and rose to his feet. Before she knew it, he had seized her around the waist and simply lifted her quickly and easily into the saddle as if she weighed little more than a feather. She grabbed the pommel in front of her with her bound hands to steady herself as the horse shifted beneath her. Eomer swung up into the saddle behind her, reaching around her to hold on to the reins.

Eomer clicked with his tongue to urge the horse forward and then shouted a command to the men in Rohirric; they surged forward into a trot.

She looked around her, able to see far more now as the sun crested the horizon than she could last night. There was plains upon plains of grass as far as the eye could see, lush green, starting to turn gold in places, and spotted with rocks and trees. Based on the position of the rising sun to their right, she deduced that they were heading roughly Southwards, towards a vast, snow-capped mountain range where wispy white clouds were tearing themselves on the peaks.

It was not the most comfortable position to be in, sat wedged between Eomer's thighs with his hard armour at her back and the unfamiliar, rolling gait of the horse beneath her, but it certainly beat being tossed over his lap as she had been the previous night. She shivered, the cool morning wind and brisk ride doing nothing to warm her chilled body.

Eomer shifted in the saddle when she shook for the third time. "Here," he said, pulling his cloak forward around one side and wrapping it around her.

"I'm fine," she said, even as another tremor wracked her body.

"Your shivers are making my teeth rattle, girl," he replied, not even shifting his pace or wavering in his control of the horse as he tucked the end around her and adjusted his arms to hold the reins once more.

She used her bound hands to pull the cloak tighter around her, holding it to her chest. "Thank you," she replied; Eomer did not respond.

They rode for some time in silence, alternating the pace of the horses by some wordless signal between the riders. She watched them as they rode; they would rise up in their stirrups, looking from left to right, constantly on the alert for danger.

Eventually, long after the sun had risen into the sky and the mountains loomed higher above them, they started to pass settlements as they rode, small villages and farmsteads. They were almost exclusively made out of wood, though had ornately carved beams and thatched roofs. There were a few low, stone buildings scattered as well.

The riders did not stop at any of them, continuing to head towards the mountains and joining a dusty road that lead from North to South, alongside the peaks.

They approached the mouth of a wide valley and all of a sudden a larger settlement came into view, built against the sloping sides of the South-facing valley. It was a fortified town, in an easily defensible position, and was encircled by high stone walls that were interspersed with watchtowers.

Perched just above the town, with its length nestled against the side of the mountain itself and facing outwards towards the South and East, was a large, rectangular hall, two stories high. It was made of a mixture of the grey stone of the mountain and a rich, reddish wood that bore ornate carvings that must have been painted gold. It seemed to gleam russet brown in the morning light and commanded a clear view of the road, valley and plains below.

"Where are we?" Charlotte asked softly, looking up at the richly carved pillars, the high, peaked windows and arched doorways of the approaching keep with wide eyes.

"Aldburg," Eomer replied simply from behind her.

Charlotte bit her lip, trying to think back. She thought she knew Tolkien's books fairly well, having reread them every few years. She knew about Edoras and Helm's Deep, but could remember little about Aldburg other than it having been Eomer's seat and originally built by Eorl.

Horns heralded their arrival from a watchtower and they cantered towards the large, open gates of the fortified town. The gates themselves were decorated with ornate scrollwork and flanked by two men. They nodded respectfully to their Marshal as they passed.

They wound their way up through the town, which was built of similar low, wooden houses to those that she had already seen, zigzagging their way up roughly cobbled roads. They passed several people, women sweeping dust from doorways, people carrying baskets of vegetables and men leading horses; those that noticed her sat before Eomer gave her curious looks.

Finally, they entered a large courtyard that sat below the hall, surrounded by larger wooden houses and stables, and the horses all milled around. Worn stone steps lead up to a wide terrace that was built of the same grey stone as the mountains and wrapped around the entire front facing length of the hall. A large set of double doors, flanked by carved pillars, stood open in the centre.

A tall, broad, grey haired woman was descending the stairs, raising her skirts so as not to step on them. "M'lord Eomer, we weren't expecting ye back for a few days yet," she said in accented English as she approached. She had a stained white apron on over a brown dress and seemed to have a kindly smile. "I do hope there was no trouble. Oh, good to see ye, Aldhelm," she added, pausing to clap one of the young riders on the shoulder and putting her hands on her hips as she looked fondly around the group. "I'll wager ye've only had scraps of bread and dried meat this morning. Breakfast is in the hall, go in and feed yeselves," she ordered with a bright smile.

Her smile faded slightly as Eomer dismounted and she caught a glimpse of Charlotte, still perched on the horse. "And what have we here?" she asked slowly, peeling her gaze from her and fixing Eomer with a look.

"That is yet to be determined," Eomer told the woman as he lifted the reins over Firefoot's head and passed them to a young lad who had hurried forward. He then reached up to where Charlotte was sitting and, as if she weighed not a thing, picked her up at the waist once again and lifted her down to the floor.

"Take Firefoot to the stables, I'll be there to rub him down shortly," he said to the boy - teenager, really - who had taken the horse's reins as he set her on her feet.

Eomer then took her by her upper arm once more and started to pull her past the woman and up the stairs, towards the open doors of the great hall and into an entryway.

Charlotte looked curiously around her as she was propelled into the building, trying to take everything in. She thought she caught a glimpse of a large, open hall, set with many tables and supported by pillars before she was marched down a corridor and into what appeared the be a guardroom. The room contained a table and a few chairs, as well as a counter that ran the length of one wall. There were numerous pots, tankards and miscellaneous pieces of armour or weapons scattered around.

Eomer closed the door firmly behind them and spun her around to face him. She looked up into his face as reached for her hands to untie the ropes that bound them, noting the straight, stern lines of his brows and the almost grim set of his mouth.

Charlotte was about to thank him for untying her when he pushed her down onto a chair and drew her hands behind it, tying them once more. He then grabbed a chair of his own and swung it around, sitting down so that he was facing her.

He drew his sword and rested it across his knees in an implicit threat, leaning back in his chair as he watched her inscrutably; remembering what he had said about her thinking on the conversation they were to have, Charlotte got the impression that her final judgement was coming.

"Speak," he ordered her plainly, raising his chin.

She took a deep breath; she had just about come to terms with the fact that she was in Middle Earth, but she didn't know how she could possibly convince him that what she was saying was true. She had felt curiously numb all morning, but now, with the two of them alone in the small guardroom, her apprehension returned in full force.

"I don't know what you want me to say," she said simply, shaking her head slightly even as she tried her hardest to remain calm. "I _honestly_ don't know how I got here. Middle Earth is a fictional place, it's a story."

She thought she saw Eomer work his jaw a little, clearly frustrated with her answer. "You still maintain that none of this is real?" he asked her, seeming to make an effort to keep his voice neutral.

"It's a _story_, of _course_ it's not real," she repeated, gazing entreatingly at him and leaning forwards as much as her bonds allowed. "Just a story."

There was a very long pause as he stared at her, his eyes unreadable, then he leaned forwards in turn, narrowing the space between them. "Last night you appeared to recognise my name," he said, appearing to be humouring her once again. "Tell me, am I in this story that you know?"

Charlotte hesitated and then nodded her head carefully.

Eomer raised a single brow. "What do you know of me?" he asked in a deceptively light tone that she thought seemed rather dangerous.

She took another deep, steadying breath. "You're Eomer, son of Eomund and Theodwyn, Third Marshal of the Riddermark. Your horse is called Firefoot and your sword is called Guthwine. You are the nephew of Theoden, his sister's son. You're Theodred's cousin and the heir after him, Your sister is Eowyn -"

She abruptly cut herself off as she felt the sharp tip of a sword prick the delicate skin at the base of her throat. Eomer was on his feet, towering over her with a face like pure thunder as he held her at swordpoint.

"... You - you _asked_," Charlotte whispered up at him, fighting back fresh tears as her heart thumped in genuine fear. "You _asked_ me."

Eomer simply stared at her for a long moment, gathering control of his anger, before lowering his sword and turning away from her. "You are well informed, I see," he said in a cold tone, not looking at her. "For a spy."

"I'm not a spy, _please_," she insisted past the vicious lump that had formed in her throat, practically begging him with her voice. "I don't know how I got here. I was out walking and then I just - just _woke up_ in the dark," she said, her voice catching on a sob of fear after having been held at swordpoint. "You _have_ to believe me, _please_."

Eomer turned to look at her once more, his eyes narrowed and his fingers white on the hilt of his sword. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a swift knock on the door.

"My lord Eomer," a voice said urgently from outside as Eomer glared at the door. "You are needed in the hall."

Without another word, he sheathed his sword with a faint rasp and marched to the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Charlotte was left alone in the room, trying to get a handle on her breathing and wildly pumping heart once more as tears trickled down her cheeks.

* * *

Eomer slammed the door of the guardroom behind him, controlling the fury that was coursing through him with great difficulty. Everything the girl had said was facts that were far more likely discovered by mortal means than this _story_ she spoke of, but he did not like the idea of any enemy spy knowing so much about him and his family.

Aldhelm, one of his younger riders, was standing in the corridor. "My lord, Gandalf the Grey has arrived," Aldhelm reported, looking somewhat perturbed by the anger on his Marshal's face lest it be directed at him. "He wants to speak to you."

Eomer nodded sharply to hide his surprise, wondering if the Wizard would have any insight on the strange white lights they had seen in the sky and Charlotte's arrival. "Stand guard outside the door," he ordered brusquely. "I will see him immediately."

He headed to the hall and found Gandalf standing by the hearth that burned in the middle, warming his hands by the flames. The hall was set out much like Edoras, though on a smaller scale and lacking in a principal seat. There was a high table at the top of the room, below the ornate window, though it normally stood empty except on formal occasions since Eomer was more often to be found eating with his men. Several of his riders were sat at one of the tables to one side, enjoying the hot breakfast promised by Maudig and warming up after their morning ride.

Eomer paused, taking in the Wizard's haggard appearance and dripping clothing, but when Gandalf turned to face him he hastened forwards and clasped him firmly on the shoulder.

"Eomer, I am glad to see you," Gandalf said, sounding tired.

"You look exhausted," Eomer told him, gesturing towards the food at the table. "Will you not come and sit down?"

"Nay, thank you. I have no time for rest," the Wizard said, shaking his head. "Is there somewhere private that we might talk?"

Eomer nodded. "Come up to my study," he offered, and then lead the old man out of the hall.

Eomer's study was upstairs in the family quarters of the hall. It had several bookshelves containing the ledgers pertaining to the upkeep of Aldburg and its surrounding lands, along with a large desk scattered with papers and an open fireplace. The fire was not lit since Maudig hadn't expected him, but it had two comfortable chairs before it; he waved the Wizard into one.

"I have little time to waste so I fear I must speak briefly," Gandalf said. "Saruman has openly moved against us, declaring himself an enemy. I have spent the past few days as a prisoner at Isengard and have only just made my escape."

Eomer exhaled a deep breath, lowering himself into the second chair. "This is grave news indeed," he said, thinking of the implications of such grim tidings. Mordor had been raiding them for months, Theodred had said that the Dunlendings were growing bolder, testing the Northern borders, and now the White Wizard was against them. "We have enemies on every border, it seems."

"I will ride straight to Edoras to speak with Theoden, but I fear he will not take the necessary steps against Saruman," Gandalf said, and Eomer wearily nodded his agreement; the King and the White Wizard had often taken counsel together, he would not take the news of his betrayal well. "However, there is a favour I would ask of you, Eomer Eommundson," Gandalf added.

"Name it," he said instantly.

"While I was in Isengard Saruman attempted a feat of highly dangerous magic," the Wizard explained. "He attempted to bring someone through the void, thinking that they have knowledge of the future. I was able to divert his spell, but it is possible that this _person_, I do not know who they are, materialised in the Eastfold. I do not have the time to search for them myself, so I must ask that your patrols take on this task. It is _imperative_ that they be found and kept safe from Saruman."

Eomer blinked in abject shock and then cleared his throat. "This magic, did it produce lights in the sky last night?" he asked, wanting to confirm his suspicion.

"Yes, it did," Gandalf confirmed. "I believe the light settled somewhere over the Eastfold, which would become the focal point for Saruman's magic."

"Then I believe I can do better than simply looking for this person - I already have her here, in Aldburg," Eomer said; for the first time, he saw the Wizard looking completely astonished and so elaborated. "We saw the lights whilst out patrolling and rode to investigate. We found a young woman, strangely dressed and disorientated. We returned to Aldburg less than half an hour ago and I have been questioning her. She claims that she is not from this world and does not believe us to be real."

The Wizard quickly overcame his shock and leapt to his feet. "Take me to her."

* * *

Charlotte had just about managed to quell her racing heartbeat when the door of the small guardroom opened once more, making her jump. She jerked her head up apprehensively as Eomer entered the room; he was no longer glaring and radiating anger, but instead looking at her with clear curiosity. He was followed by an old, bearded man dressed in grey.

"Good morning," the old man said in a slightly rumbling voice, examining her closely from the tips of her walking boots to the tear tracks on her face.

"You must be Gandalf," Charlotte said, relief colouring her tone; Gandalf, _surely_, was one of the few people in Middle Earth who could help her.

"Indeed," the Wizard confirmed in a grandfatherly tone. "And who might you be?"

"My name is Charlotte Grey," she told him, her voice catching ever so slightly on the raw lump that had sat high in her throat ever since Eomer had pointed his sword at her.

"A pleasure to meet you, my dear," Gandalf said in a genuine tone, and then looked at Eomer with a frown. "Why have you bound her hands?" he wanted to know.

Eomer raised a brow minutely. "I thought she might be dangerous," he replied mildly, making no apology for his actions.

"Dangerous? Yes, certainly, very dangerous," Gandalf agreed, looking down at her with a small smile. "The very fact that you recognised me without so much as an introduction proves that you beset with dangers, Miss Grey," he told her, and then turned to Eomer with a hint of reproach. "Not so dangerous, however, that she needs to be tied to a chair in the presence of a Wizard and one of Rohan's greatest warriors."

Wordlessly, Eomer moved around them and knelt behind her. She felt his rough fingers on her wrists as the knots were untied once more, hopefully for the last time. Bringing her hands in front of her, she instantly scrubbed the lingering tears from her cheeks. She then traced a finger over the faint red mark that remained around her wrists, wondering what the Wizard had told him to make him not question this gesture of trust towards her.

Gandalf took a seat in the chair that Eomer had previously sat in. "Now then, Eomer tells me that you do not believe this to be real," he said, prompting her to talk.

"In my world this is just a story," she explained once again, glancing warily over her shoulder to where Eomer was standing, fearful that he might get angry again. "I thought at first I was dreaming or hallucinating, but …" she took a deep, shuddering breath and managed a small, pained smile. "Well, I would have thought I would have woken up by now, if that was the case," she said helplessly.

Gandalf nodded. "And to what, may I ask, does this story pertain?" he wanted to know.

Charlotte frowned ever so slightly, unsure of how much she should reveal. "Well, there are several stories, the oldest relating to the Silmarils, I think," she said carefully. "However the story I am most familiar with is more about … current affairs," she added, widening her eyes significantly.

"And by that I gather you mean the growing power in Mordor," Gandalf said heavily, his protruding eyebrows low over his eyes. "How much do you know?"

"A lot," she replied in a deadpan voice.

"Then say no more, it is dangerous even for me to catch a glimpse of the future," he said firmly.

Charlotte nodded her understanding, twisting her hands together in her lap. "If you don't mind me asking, where abouts am I in the story?" She realised how inane her question sounded, shook her head, and rephrased herself. "That is, what events have happened recently?"

"Is my imprisonment in Isengard part of your tale?"

"You've only just escaped," she surmised, realising that she must be very near the start of the events within The Lord of the Rings.

"Indeed," Gandalf confirmed, and then looked at her intently. "I trust I do not need to stress the sheer importance of the knowledge you hold. In the wrong hands it could prove devastating."

"Oh, I know, I could change everything," Charlotte said fervently, thinking of the terrible damage she could do, wreaking havoc on one of her favourite stories. "But ... could you not just send me home?"

Gandalf's head lowered sadly and for the first time she noticed how tired and gaunt he looked. When he spoke, his voice was full of genuine regret. "Alas, I cannot," he said in a low voice, the flare of hope that had arisen within her at the sight of him sputtering and dying in her chest. "Since I was not the one to perform the spell, sending you home is nigh on impossible at the present."

"... _Impossible_?" she breathed almost inaudibly, staring at him with wide eyes as sheer panic started to grow like a weed inside her to replace the ashes of hope. Even though she had known since last night that she was in Middle Earth, somehow, at no point had she thought that she might have to _stay_ here.

"Do not despair," he told her, no doubt reading the thoughts in her face. "With time and research I may well be able to send you back ... but time is not on our side at the moment." He looked at her somberly. "I fear you must resign yourself to being here for quite some while."

"But, but -" she stammered powerlessly, unable to comprehend staying in Middle Earth, especially during the War of the Ring. "I have family and friends!" she bleated, utterly helpless. "I'm in the middle of my Masters!" She shook her head wildly, her breathing coming in sharp bursts as her heart raced. "I - I can't just _vanish_!"

"I am sorry," the Wizard said simply. His voice was regretful, but firm; it was clear that there would be no arguing this.

"But ... what am I supposed to _do_ here?" she asked, the panic in her voice turning to pure misery as she slumped in her chair.

"You have two choices before you," Gandalf said, his tone brooking no argument. It was clear that there was no time for wallowing in self pity. "You can either join me as I journey North, or you can stay here in Rohan under Eomer's protection."

Eomer made a surprised noise at this; she had almost forgotten him standing behind her, listening wordlessly to the entire conversation.

"I must warn you, if you should choose to come with me then the journey will be quick and rough, not to mention dangerous," Gandalf added, ignoring Eomer's outburst. "I cannot guarantee your safety."

"Neither can I," Eomer interjected sharply, seemingly affronted by the assumption. "Gandalf, you cannot expect me to -"

"I'll stay in Rohan," Charlotte interrupted, surprising everyone, including herself.

"What?" Eomer hissed in the incredulous tone of one who had lost all control of the situation.

It had taken scarcely a second for her to decide. "The story I know follows Frodo," she told Gandalf, knowing that Rohan was definitely the safer option for her. "If I go with you then we will meet up with him and I might accidentally change something."

"A wise decision," the Wizard agreed, the faintest hint of a twinkle in the depth of his eyes. "And while it gladdens my heart to know that I will indeed find Frodo, you must not reveal your knowledge so candidly! You must keep as much to yourself as possible."

"Oh - I mean yes, sorry," she said, feeling chastised.

Shifting his gaze to over her shoulder, Gandalf addressed Eomer again. "Aside from the three of us, who else knows of Charlotte's origins?"

"The men I rode out with heard her confusion when I told her we were in Rohan, but I do not believe any of them heard her speaking of it being in a story," Eomer said with a faint frown as he thought back, clearly gaining control over his previous anger. "I questioned her alone here in Aldburg."

"These men, can they be trusted?"

Eomer nodded. "They have sworn an oath to lord and lands."

"Let them know a little of the truth, that she is from another world and needs protecting, to satisfy their curiosity, but keep her knowledge a secret," Gandalf suggested. "Her origins must not become common knowledge, lest Saruman hear news of her. Believe me, he is already seeking her."

The Wizard looked between the two of them for a long moment, and then abruptly rose to his feet. "And now I must depart," he said unexpectedly, startling them both. "If you have further questions you must ask them on the way to the gates."

"You're leaving?" Charlotte asked in alarm, leaping to her feet and following him, almost colliding with Eomer in a tangle of limbs as they both tried to get through the door. "Already?"

"I'm afraid I must, I have the greatest need of haste," he said, striding down the corridor towards the doors. "Eomer, is there a horse I can borrow until I get to Edoras?"

"Certainly - though are you sure of this, Gandalf?" he asked, his face set into a deep scowl.

"You are a born and bred warrior, Eomer, and this is one of the strongest holds in Rohan," Gandalf replied simply. "I know I can trust you to protect her."

"Would she not be safer in Gonder, away from Saruman?" he asked, easily keeping pace with the Wizard's long strides while Charlotte trotted behind them.

"And closer to Mordor?" Gandalf said, raising his brows skeptically as he walked. "I think not."

"But there is still so much I don't understand," Charlotte chipped in, desperately wanting answers. "How did I even get here in the first place?"

"Ah, now that was Saruman's doing," the Wizard told her as they reached the doors. "He attempted a feat of highly dangerous magic to bring you here."

"But why _me_?" she entreated, still not understanding.

"Now that I cannot answer. Perhaps you were near a weak point in the fabric that separates us from the Void, perhaps the hand of fate simply slipped when it placed you here."

Charlotte frowned ponderously as they walked, wondering if the stones were this weak point that Gandalf spoke of. If they were, then the legends and superstitions surrounding such sites would bear much greater investigation … when she eventually returned to England, of course, she reminded herself bitterly.

Gandalf came to an abrupt halt on the terrace at the top of the stairs leading down to the courtyard. He turned and placed a hand on either of their shoulders. "I am sorry, I know I have left you with a dangerous path to walk in the dark, but I simply do not have the time to linger here," he said regretfully, squeezing their shoulders ever so slightly. "Eomer, a horse?" he added, looking at the younger man.

"There's a chestnut gelding in the fourth stall to the right," Eomer said with the heavy tone of one who had resigned themselves to a situation. "Tell the stable hand at Edoras to send him back with Erkenbrand's Eored when he passes in two weeks."

"You have my thanks." Gandalf paused for a moment, and then looked speculatively at Charlotte intently. "Tell me one thing, my dear ... Do we have hope?"

Charlotte bit her lip and nodded slowly.

Gandalf gave her a small smile and squeezed both of their shoulders tightly. "In that case, fare well, and good luck to you both." And with that he was gone, hastening down the steps and into one of the large wooden buildings to the side of the courtyard that she assumed were the stables.

The two of them stood on the terrace in silence, watching as the Wizard emerged from the stable astride a horse and cantered out of the courtyard, calling for people to make way. From their high vantage point they could see his small form galloping at speed once he was out of the town, heading North along the road in the direction of Edoras.

Charlotte wrapped her arms around herself as the distance eventually swallowed his figure many minutes later. "I can't believe he just _left_ like that," she said, breaking the silence and shaking her head slightly as she stared out over the plains of Rohan. With the Wizard now gone she found herself wondering if she had made the right decision not to go with him.

"Wizards are abrupt creatures," Eomer said from beside her, also looking out over the plains.

"I probably should have gone with him," she added quietly, not really intending for him to hear; the sight of Gandalf had filled her with hope that she would be sent home and she was still half in a state of disbelief that she had to remain in Middle Earth.

"Why didn't you?" he asked intently, turning to look at her.

Charlotte hesitated, thinking of her response. "I ... suppose that I was afraid," she said honestly, aware of his gaze on her as she continued looking out over the plains. There was no telling what could have happened if she had journeyed North; she may have encountered the Ringwraiths, orcs, even the Balrog had she joined the Fellowship. She took a deep, shuddering breath and turned to look at him. "Besides, you heard what Gandalf said, I could change everything."

"Not necessarily for the worse," he pointed out pragmatically, still watching her.

She pursed her lips as guilt pricked her - had she gone with Gandalf, would she have been able to stop him from falling into the abyss, or even somehow prevent Boromir's death?

But no, these things had to happen so that the story could progress, she _had_ to keep things the way they were.

"There's no telling what impact a single change would make," she said eventually, holding her arms tighter around herself, thinking of the butterfly effect and how much things could change.

There was a long silence between them, eventually broken by an approaching rider, the same one who had given her bread earlier that morning - she assumed he was someone fairly high in rank. "My lord," he said, nodding as he approached; his gaze flicked curiously over to Charlotte.

Eomer sighed, taking the hint. " Eothain, may I introduce Charlotte Grey, Charlotte, Eothain, one of my riders and captains," he said, waving a hand between them; Charlotte just about managed a faint smile, while Eothain simply nodded at her. "Charlotte will be staying with us for some weeks."

Eothain's brows lowered deeply into a frown as he looked between the two of them. "Min halford, hye sy gryregaest," he said in Rohirric, clearly protesting this in some way.

"Hye sy wergenga," Eomer said apparently correcting him though she had no idea what she was saying.

Eomer then glanced at her and exhaled deeply, raising a hand to gesture back to the doors of the hall. "Come, I'll show you to a room so that you can get some rest," he said in a softer voice.

She followed him back through the great doors of the building, this time taking the time to look around with interest. They were stood in what appeared to be an entryway: in front of them was a wide, wooden imperial staircase, ornately carved of the same red wood as the rest of the hall; to the left hand side was the corridor that they had taken to the guardroom; to the right hand side was a set of doors that lead to the hall itself, which seemed to take up a whole half of the long, rectangular building. Charlotte caught a glimpse of a room two stories high with shafts of light shining in through high windows between the carved pillars and a burning hearth in the middle of the floor.

"Gather the men, I wish to speak with them," Eomer said quietly to Eothain, who nodded and vanished through the doors to the hall. Eomer jerked his head towards the stairs and she followed him up, veering to the left and trailing a hand over the smooth, carved banister.

Up the right hand side of the stairs she was surprised to see an open doorway leading to a balcony that ran around three sides of the hall below, with the far side consisting of a large, stained glass window depicting a simple knotted design in green and amber glass. The rest of the second story, to the left of the stairs, was clearly above the corridor below, consisting of numerous doorways leading off to rooms. At the far end of the corridor she could just spy another set of closed double doors, though she did not know where they could possibly lead.

Eomer led her to a door about halfway down the corridor. "We'll house you in the main hall, I want to be able to keep an eye on you," he explained, pushing the door open and stepping back for her to enter first.

Charlotte hesitantly walked in, looking curiously around. The room reminded her a little of a hunting cabin, all carved, heavy beams, high windows, ornate wall hangings depicting horses and grey furs covering both the floor and bed. The room itself was not large, containing a reasonably sized bed, a cold and empty fireplace, a bedside table with an unlit candle, a wardrobe and a table with two small drawers below that had a small, aged mirror and few sundry items as well as a copper ewer and basin on top of it. It was far more luxurious than she would have expected from a pseudo-medieval society.

She glanced at Eomer, who lingered in the doorway. "This was my sister's room when she was younger, Maudig keeps it in readiness for her visits," he told her, interpreting her wordless question. "I hope it will suffice."

She nodded, looking around again. "Thank you," she said softly, walking further in and trailing a hand over the rough furs on the bed.

Somehow, being in the room that would be hers for the foreseeable future reminded her afresh that she would not see her home for a long time. The lump that had previously formed in her throat threatened to choke her once more and she found herself blinking back fresh tears; she kept her back to him, not wanting him to see her cry once again.

"You're clearly worn out," Eomer observed brusquely, hearing one of the sniffles that she couldn't suppress; she glanced back at him, brushing her nose with her hand.

He was looking at her with none of the suspicion or mistrust he had looked at her with previously, instead his gaze was filled with sympathy, uncertainty, and maybe a hint of regret. "I imagine you will wish to rest after last night. Come and find me when you're ready."

Charlotte nodded her thanks at him, not trusting her voice at that moment, and he slowly closed the door behind him. She took a deep breath and sat down on the bed, looking around the room once more as she tried to get a handle on the emotions that were overwhelming her.

It was not long before she had her head buried in her hands, her quiet sobs filling the room.

* * *

_Min halford - My lord_

_Hye sy gryregaest - She is a fearful stranger_

_Hye sy wergenga - She is a stranger to be protected_

* * *

**Thank you all for your wonderful reviews, I'm glad there's so much interest in this story!**

**Would love to hear what you think so far, or what you think might happen.**

**The Rohirric is taken from Old English, conversations between Gandalf and Gwaihir mostly taken from Tolkien.**

**Anyone interested in beta-ing this for me? Would involve me emailing you chapters and proofing them before posting. Would also be great to bounce ideas off someone, so betaing may involve so spoilers!**

**Leave a review, my darlings! **


	3. Rain on the mountain

**Chapter 3 - Rain on the mountain**

* * *

"_**Nieht bið wedera ðiestrost, ned bið wyrda."**__  
_"_Night is the darkest of weathers, necessity the hardest of fates."_

_Solomon and Saturn II_

* * *

Eomer clenched his jaw as he lingered in the corridor outside Eowyn's old room. He could plainly hear the sound of muffled sobs within and he felt for the girl - Charlotte - truly.

She had been torn from her world, her friends and her family, and somehow thrust into theirs, though he still did not fully comprehend how such a thing was even possible.

Not only that, he had then terrorised her, doubting her word, keeping her bound and even holding her at sword point in his anger.

He was under no illusion that none of those tears were caused by his own regrettable actions against her and the fear he had no doubt caused.

A deep sigh passed his lips and he released the door handle. Hopefully some time on her own to rest would allow her to regain her composure.

He headed down the stairs, back to the first level, and into the hall. He found his riders assembled at one of the long tables that sat between the pillars, many of them still picking at food or holding tankards. Their conversations ceased as he approached and they looked at him expectantly.

"I know you are all curious about the events of last night and the woman we found," he said, taking a seat with his men. "Some of what I am about to tell you will be common knowledge, but the rest is in strict confidence. I hold you to your silence by your oath to lord and lands."

The men nodded their understanding, well comprehending the seriousness of that oath.

"First has anyone spoken of the woman to anyone outside of those here?" Eomer asked.

"Aye," Deven said while the rest of them indicated no, placing his ale back on the table. "Maudig asked who she was after you took her inside. I said we found her on the plains."

Eomer nodded; that was easily handled. "Before I speak further of her, I have some bad news," he said plainly. "Saruman has declared himself an enemy, it will only be a matter of time before he moves against Rohan."

Muttering erupted among the men and they cast worried looks at each other and they were right to be worried - with Dunland, Isengard and Mordor also against them they had enemies on every border.

"What are your plans, my lord?" Winfred asked with a deep frown on his face.

"Fortification of the outlying villages and increased patrols to start with," Eomer responded, though with Gandalf's haste to speak to Charlotte and his abrupt departure he had scarcely the time to think further on this matter. "We will spread the word among the herd men, have them start to draw back away from the Northern borders. Gandalf is riding to Edoras as we speak, so we may have new orders from the King in a few days."

The men nodded their understanding, a few low, worried conversations going on around the table.

"And the girl?"

Eomer took a deep breath. "This is the part that requires uttermost secrecy," he told his men. "You all saw her clothing and her disorientation upon finding her. In truth, she is from another world and has been brought here by magic," he informed them, watching as the muttering erupted anew, with several men making a quick sign with their fingers to ward off evil. "The White Wizard is seeking her, so she will remain here for her own protection. Her origins must not become known. There is bound to be talk of her in the town before long, but if anyone asks you are to say that she is a traveller that we found on the plains."

He looked at each man in turn, meeting their eyes and waiting for them to nod their agreement at him.

The conversation then began to drift, with the men mostly discussing the treachery of Isengard in small groups. Eothain picked up his tankard and moved to down the table to sit next to Eomer.

"What is it?" Eomer asked.

"Do you think it wise?" Eothain murmured so as not to draw attention to their conversation, not looking at him. "Having a stranger in our midsts with this new treachery afoot?"

"She is no spy, of that much I am certain," Eomer responded; he couldn't help but think of the way her grey eyes had poured into his as she had _begged_ him to believe her.

He could feel Eothain frowning at him and glanced at his friend. "Gandalf has vouched for her and her tale, however outlandish, rings true. She must be protected at all costs."

"Why is the White Wizard seeking her?" Eothain wanted to know, still frowning slightly.

"Now that I cannot tell you," he replied, thinking for the first time how strange it truly was that she had knowledge of events that had not yet happened.

Did she know how this war would unfold, where Saruman and Mordor would strike?

Did she know if Rohan would even survive this war?

He thought of the small, almost imperceivable nod she had given the Wizard when he had asked if they had hope; he had to have faith in the strength of his people and trust that all would be well.

Eothain nodded carefully, clearly deep in thought but not pressing the matter any further. "In that case, tread carefully there, my friend," he said simply, toasting him with his tankard.

Eomer frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"This morning, at the camp, I thought that girl had the look of a spooked filly that had been separated from its dam," his friend replied, pausing to take a mouthful of ale.

Eomer had to concede that point. The girl - Charlotte, he reminded himself - had looked like a frightened foal as she had stared around her with wide eyes, wringing his cloak between her fingers.

"You know as well as I that such an animal will either bolt at the first opportunity or cleave quickly to those who show kindness," Eothain continued, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

"Aye," Eomer agreed, though he doubted that she would try to run since she had elected to stay here. "Though with Isengard as a new enemy on top of the Mordor raids, I do believe that she will be the least of my problems."

"As you say … Dark days are ahead, it seems." Eothain poured Eomer a tankard of his own and passing it to him. "Who knows what the future holds?"

"... Who indeed?" Eomer said quietly to himself as he took the tankard, thinking of the strange, otherworldly girl currently weeping upstairs.

* * *

Charlotte was startled awake by a woman bursting into the bedroom.

"Ye've slept the day away, lass. Time to rise, 'tis nearly the evening meal," the woman said, throwing open the curtains that Charlotte had shut and causing late afternoon sunlight to flood the room.

She blinked and rubbed her eyes, crusty with dried tears, and recognised the older woman as the one who had greeted the riders when they had arrived.

The woman turned, framed by the light of the window, and put her hands on her hips with a wide smile. "My name is Maudig, I am the cook here."

"Charlotte," she replied as she slowly got up from the warm furs, her voice coming out hoarse from having cried herself to sleep earlier.

"M'lord Eomer tells me ye will be staying with us for a spell," Maudig said, starting to potter around and straighten the bed. "He also said ye have no Rohirric, but not to worry, many of us speak Westron around the hall - ye can thank the Gondorian's for that!" she said with a bright laugh.

She then bustled to the doorway and grabbed a bucket and small stack of clothes that she had left outside. "I found ye some clothes that should fit well enough and I've bought water for a wash." She filled the ewer and placed the clothes and towel on the bed.

She then turned to face Charlotte, her hands on her hips once more as she looked her up and down. "Ye a wee thing, aren't ye?" she observed, but then nodded her approval. "We'll have to hem some of the dresses, though 'tis nice to see a girl with good, child bearing hips for a change. All the girls here are tall and thin like willow wands!"

"Um, thank you?" Charlotte was not entirely sure if that had been a compliment or not.

Maudig, however, was still smiling. "Ye can tell ye're a stranger in these parts though." She picked up a lock of Charlotte's red hair and examined it with honest pleasure. "That hair - such a pretty colour, like fire."

Charlotte felt a small, almost hysterical laugh bubble up, the first since she had arrived in Middle Earth. She had been teased about her red hair in the past and was even the dreaded 'red-headed stepchild' to her stepmother, but this woman seemed almost in awe of the colour. "It's not considered such a good thing where I come from, but thank you.," She managed a wan smile at the kindly woman.

"What fools, 'tis considered a lucky colour here in the Mark, ye know," Maudig said, even going as far as to give her a sly wink, much to her bemusement.

She patted Charlotte on the shoulder. "I'll leave ye to dress, try one of the tunics and we'll tack the dresses later. Ye'll likely find m'lord Eomer in the stables when ye're done, he said to fetch ye," she told her, and then bustled out of the room once more.

Her faint smile lingering, Charlotte headed over to the ewer and basin that Maudig had filled with steaming water. She was surprised to find that there was a flannel and a hard, greyish lump of what appeared to be soap next to the ewer. She picked it up and smelt it; it was likely made of ashes and animal fat, but someone had roughly chopped chamomile and tossed it into the mixture as well, giving the soap a faintly floral smell. It wouldn't lather particularly well, but it was more than she had expected.

She stripped off her clothes and washed herself as best she could using the soap and flannel, relieved to finally rid herself of the dust and dirt she had accumulated on the plains. She didn't bother with her hair, though she did brush out the tangles with a comb she found in one of the small drawers of the table. She was further surprised to find that the second drawer contained small, rough balls of wool and sprigs of dried mint. It wasn't as effective as her toothbrush back home, but it certainly did the job.

Wrapped in the towel, she examined the small pile of clothing on the bed. It was all made of rough, homespun fabrics and consisted of two dresses, one in green and one in grey, two tunics of green and brown, two pairs of brown leggings, a belt, some undergarments and a nightdress.

Deciding to keep her own underwear on for now rather than attempting the breastband, Charlotte pulled on the brown leggings, securing them using the small ties at the waist. The dark green tunic went over her head and fell to her mid-thighs. She picked up the belt, noting the worn, tooled pattern of knotwork. Even on the tightest hole, with the excess leather tucked in, it still hung loose around her hips; perhaps it had belonged to Maudig, who was a rather broad woman.

Fully dressed, she examined herself in the age-spotted mirror. It was strange to see herself no longer wearing her modern clothing; she no longer looked like such an outsider now that she was dressed in the style of the Rohirrim.

She hadn't yet been given any shoes and so she pulled her walking boots back on, laced them up and left the room. She glanced up and down the long corridor, noting the several closed doors and the curious set of double doors at the end, but knew that now wasn't the time for investigating.

She headed towards the stairs, but paused as she reached the arch leading to the balcony that looked out over the hall.

She stayed back, not wanting to draw attention to herself, but still peeked out over the hall below. There were long tables between the pillars that supported the balconies, with people milling about between them, eating, drinking and talking. It reminded her of drawings she had seen of Viking halls.

She then crept down the stairs, through the entryway and out into the bright, late afternoon sunshine. She passed several people, but other than a few curious looks nobody paid much attention to her. She blinked as she stood out on the stone terrace, looking down at the courtyard below. There were people milling around watering their horses from the round trough in the middle. One of the buildings to the side of the courtyard was clearly a blacksmith and a horse was having its hooves reshod.

Hesitantly, she walked down the stone steps and headed to the large building on the other side of the courtyard that she took to be the stables since Gandalf had emerged from there earlier.

The long building was dark and cool inside, smelling of horses and leather. The stables were divided into stalls on either side of a corridor strewn with hay, each stall barred by a carved, lattice wooden door about chest height. Narrow shafts of light fell from high windows, catching in the dust motes and illuminating the ornate pillars that separated each stall.

At the far end she could see a bigger stall, where Eomer stood with his back to her, brushing Firefoot's already gleaming coat. He had shed his armour and was now wearing a faded brown shirt with dusty trousers. The horse snorted and Eomer glanced over his shoulder to see her standing nervously in the doorway. He jerked his head, indicating she should come over as he continued to brush his horse.

The horses made agitated movements in their stalls as she walked down the corridor, no doubt reacting to the presence of a stranger in their midst. Reaching the stall at the far end, she folded both arms on the top of the carved wooden doorway and rested her chin on them, looking in on the horse and rider.

"Did you sleep?" Eomer asked, his eyes focused on the dappled spots of the horse's flank as he swept the brush over them.

"A little," she responded, then glanced down at her wrists. The red line caused by the rope he had tied her with had long since faded. "Well, better than last night, anyway," she added, remembering the ache that the hard, cold ground had caused after she had lain awake for hours and hours, unable to sleep as she contemplated the strange situation she had found herself in.

Eomer glanced briefly over at her and smoothed a hand down Firefoot's back. He then sighed, hung the brush on a hook and pushed the door of the stall, making her take an automatic step back.

He stood in front of her with one arm resting easily on the door to the stall, towering over her as he looked down.

"You've been crying," he observed bluntly, a frown pulling at his stern mouth as his eyes roved over her face.

"Do you blame me?" Charlotte asked in turn, her head tilted back to look up at him. Her tears had dried up after she had cried herself to sleep earlier, now she just felt curiously numb inside.

"No," Eomer said without judgement, surprising her a little.

He had shown her nothing but kindness since Gandalf's arrival and subsequent explanation of her origins, she noted absently.

There was a pause, then his gaze flicked down her body and he nodded his approval. "The clothing looks well on you, though you're wearing it wrong," he added; behind him, Firefoot huffed out a noisy breath, as if agreeing with his master.

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking down at herself, wondering how on earth she had managed to get a tunic and leggings wrong.

"The belt is meant to be higher, around the waist." He jerked his chin towards where the belt sat loosely around her hips.

She shook her head. "It won't fit, it's too big." She lifted it from around her hips to prove her point.

"Here," he said, reaching for the belt buckle – Charlotte flinched sharply backwards at the movement without thinking and Eomer froze, his hand still outstretched.

Their eyes met in the air between them.

Charlotte was the first to move, skittering her gaze away and reaching for the belt buckle herself. She fumbled with the buckle, aware of his eyes still on her as he clenched his outstretched fingers in a loose fist and slowly lowered his hand.

She felt foolish for her involuntery flinch away. She had no reason to believe he meant her harm after Gandalf had vouched for her.

She unthreaded the leather and handed him the belt without looking at him. He took it, their fingers just brushing.

She stood very still as he slowly, probably purposefully slowly so as not to alarm her, wrapped the belt around her waist, marking with his thumb and finger where it met a snug fit. He then laid the leather flat on the top of the stall door and pulled a small knife from his boot to gore a new hole in the leather. He frowned as he worked, the corners of his mouth turned distinctly downwards beneath his beard.

He handed it back to her wordlessly and she fastened it once again using the new hole; it fit comfortably around her waist, subtly cinching it in.

She tucked the excess leather behind the belt and smoothed her hands down the material of the tunic while Eomer bent to return the knife to his boot.

Their eyes met once more as he straightened up; he seemed to be searching for something in her face, a deep crease of contemplation between his brows. "Do you fear me after this morning?" he asked eventually, his voice slightly pained.

"No," she replied instantly with a shake of her head.

Eomer did not seem to believe her if his lingering grimace was any indication.

He pulled open the door to the stall and returned to Firefoot's side, picking up the brush once more to resume his work on the stallion's coat. "I feel I must explain my actions towards you," he said, facing the horse rather than her. "War has been brewing for months now. We've had raids on our herds, herdsmen going missing and several days ago we received reports of strange, black riders crossing our land at speed. We have learned to be very wary of strangers."

He looked at her, pausing in his brushing. "Understand that this is not an apology; it gives me no pleasure to hurt a woman, though I acted in a way I thought best for these lands." His hazel eyes were intent on her, his voice earnest. "You need not fear me, Charlotte."

"I understand." She even managed a small smile - he was one of the heroes of this story, after all. "And I'm not afraid of you."

Eomer patted the horse's neck and sighed again. "That said, I do owe you an apology for doubting your word," he added, his tone resigned. "You were telling the truth and I did not believe you. I beg your pardon for that."

Charlotte shook her head. "I wouldn't have believed me either," she said, not blaming him for his actions in the slightest. "I can barely believe it myself."

There was a brief pause. "I've spoken to the men who were out on patrol and heard you saying you were from another world; they will keep that secret," he assured her, sweeping the brush in long strokes over the horse's back. "They know nothing of this … _story_ of yours. You can tell everyone else that you hale from the north. Lake Town, perhaps."

"Alright," she agreed, knowing that it was a good idea to get a story straight before anyone asked questions.

There was another lull in conversation, interspersed by the soft sounds of the horses in their stalls and the faint rasp of the brush over Firefoot's flank. "Have you given any thought to how you will occupy your time while you are here?" Eomer asked her, still grooming the horse.

She blinked, considering this for the first time. "I don't know," she confessed.

Eomer nodded. "It is probably best that you stay close to the hall rather than somewhere in the town. Would you object to helping the ladies with household jobs?"

"Cooking, cleaning …?" Charlotte guessed.

"Washing and mending, aye," Eomer confirmed. "Maudig will be glad of the extra help, I'm sure."

"That's fine." She had to keep herself busy somehow. "She seems like a kind woman," she added, remembering Maudig's bright smile.

"Aye, she is," Eomer agreed in a lighter tone. "She's been the cook here since long before I was born." He shot a small, almost boyish smile - the first she had seen from him - in her direction. "She is the true master here, not I."

Charlotte smiled a little in turn and Eomer returned to his work of brushing the horse.

There was another long silence between them, this one more companionable. It was interesting to watch him with the horse; his movements were firm, but gentle. He occasionally murmured in Rohirric to it, his voice deep and soothing. It seemed like a curious language, guttural in places and lilting and melodic in others.

She noticed a series of hooks from which several other brushes were hanging. Picking one, she lifted the latch on the door and made to step into the stall to help.

Firefoot neighed thunderously at the intrusion, half rearing up and bringing his powerful hooves down with an almighty thud. Eomer slipped in front of the horse, grabbing its head before it could rear again and running a hand down its velvet nose.

"What are you doing?" Eomer snapped over his shoulder. Firefoot danced from side to side despite his calming caresses, still adgitated by her presence in his stall.

"I was … just going to help," Charlotte said meekly. With her back pressed fearfully against the stall door, she half raised the brush in explanation even as her heart thudded a mile a minute in her chest.

Eomer looked from her face to the brush in her hand and back again, then, finding no malice or mischief in her expression, exhaled deeply.

He leaned in close to Firefoot and murmured something in Rohirric, smoothing a hand down the horse's neck; Firefoot huffed and lowered his head.

He then turned back to face her. "That's for the mane and tail, not the coat." He swapped the brush she had picked up for the one that he held. "Use this. Long strokes, not too firm."

The horse visibly shivered at her first hesitant touch to its flank, but quickly calmed as Eomer murmured to it once more and started to work on its mane on the opposite side.

Firefoot's coat was dark grey, the colour of thunderclouds, with dappled white spots on his hindquarters, but his face was white. The mane and tail were both glossy black, the hair coarse and rough. She felt dwarfed as she stood next to such a huge beast, her head only just clearing its powerful back. She wondered how someone even as tall as Eomer, who was well over six foot, could mount him with ease.

She was aware of Eomer watching her over the top of the horse as she brushed, hesitantly at first, but with growing confidence. "You do not know horses, do you?" he said eventually, breaking the silence.

Charlotte made a small, amused noise. "Is it that obvious?" she asked with a slight smile at him. "Until this morning I had never even ridden one," she added honestly. She thought to herself that being tossed over his lap like a sack of potatoes the night before probably didn't count.

"_Never_?" He ducked underneath Firefoot's neck so that they were on the same side and he could better look at her incredulously. "You cannot ride?"

She shook her head. "I lived in a city," she said by way of explanation. Truthfully, she had never had much inclination towards animals; her family never had any dogs or cats, she hadn't so much as been on a donkey ride on the beach.

"_This_ is a city," Eomer retorted, looking at her as if she had grown an extra head.

She laughed. "In my world this would be little more than a small, quaint town." She resumed with her brushing. "Our cities are miles wide, with hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people."

"But surely you must have travelled," he persisted, his shock and disbelief written blatantly across his face.

"People haven't used horses to travel for hundreds of years." Charlotte grimaced at the idea of having to explain modern technology. "It's a rather long explanation, but basically people use _machines_, like horseless wagons, to travel around."

Eomer shook his head in turn. "Your world sounds like a strange place," he said, sounding as if he didn't entirely believe her. "Nevertheless, we will have to remedy your riding." He thought for a moment. "My squire, Bryde, will teach you. He isn't old enough to come out on patrols yet."

Charlotte nodded and gave another small smile, hesitantly patting Firefoot where she had brushed him. She wasn't entirely convinced that she wanted to learn, but Eomer seemed adamant and it was something else to keep her busy. "My grandfather always used to say that every problem is an opportunity in disguise. I suppose being stuck in Rohan, home of the horse lords, seems an ideal time to learn."

Eomer made an amused noise without looking at her, like he was trying hard to suppress a chuckle.

"What's funny?" she asked him with a slight frown.

It was clear that he was fighting a smile as he worked on the mane. "Most of us learn as children, I could ride near on before I could walk. I'm told it's harder for adults to learn." He suddenly grinned at her, startling her a little with the way his eyes crinkled easily - despite the stern and unyielding first impression he had made, he was clearly a man who laughed merrily and often. "You'll be black and blue," he added with relish.

"I think I'm up for the challenge," she retorted confidently - then promptly jumped nearly a foot in the air as Firefoot loudly snorted his disagreement beside her.

Eomer laughed at her reaction, patting the horse fondly on the neck; Charlotte let out a shaky breath, trying not to let on just how startled she had been.

"Lesson one: Rohirric steeds, particularly war horses, are dangerous," he told her plainly, an amused smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth beneath his beard. He jerked his head towards the horse. "Come, you need to be introduced properly." He gestured for her to come round to the front of the horse.

"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion, but he simply took her by the upper arm and turned her so that she was face to face with the huge beast. She automatically tried to step backwards as the horse moved to investigate her face, but Eomer's hard bulk stood right behind her. He held her shoulders in a firm grip.

"He is only tolerating your presence in his stall because I told him you are a friend," he said from behind her, and she suddenly wondered if the horse was really that intelligent and could understand him. "Hold your ground, let him get to know you." He briefly squeezed her shoulders and released them as he stepped back. She could hear him rummaging in a bag that hung from one of the walls, but didn't dare turn around with Firefoot this close to her.

Charlotte held very still as the horse sniffed at her face and tunic. The hot, smelly breath stirred her hair and the heavy nose butted at her torso with surprising strength. She felt Eomer press something smooth and round into her hand from behind - an apple, she quickly realised. Holding her fingers flat, she offered it to the big beast. Large yellow teeth closed over it with an audible crunch.

Cautiously, she raised her hands and stroked the smooth, white face of the horse. Its limpid black eyes watched her curiously and the nose sniffed at her hands again, no doubt looking for more treats.

Finding none, Firefoot snorted the contents of his nose at her hands in disdain.

Eomer chuckled again at her disgust and handed her a rag to wipe her hands on. "Had you tried to enter Firefoot's stall without me being here it could have proved fatal for you."

She didn't doubt it, remembering the power in which the horse had brought down his hooves even with just a warning rear.

"You should always be introduced to a horse if possible, but if you need to approach a horse you don't know then be aware of signs of aggression - ears pinned back, nostrils wide, lips drawn back …"

He launched into a lecture and Charlotte found herself listening attentively while he spoke all about horses at length as they continued to brush Firefoot's already shining coat.

* * *

Night had long since fallen and the evening meal had been served. The hall was filled with the low murmur of conversation, illuminated by the flickering torches and roaring flames of the central hearth, a fire which was only extinguished once a year before Yule. A couple of deerhounds slept peacefully by the hearth, having enjoyed a meal of scraps.

Eomer watched as Charlotte made her way around the tables with a large, heavy pitcher of ale that she had to support from beneath as well as holding the handle. She was refilling tankards, stopping to talk to everyone she passed. She seemed to be asking their names and about their families, giving smiles generously.

She had been an object of interest among the people in the hall when she had emerged with the others serving the food, her red hair instantly setting her out as an outsider.

Rumours had quickly spread around the hall: she was a girl from Lake Town that the riders had found on the plains after she had lost her way journeying to Minas Tirith; her father had remarried and was expecting a new child, so she had gone to make her fortune elsewhere since he and her new mother had no place for her in their home; she had been offered a position in the hall and may be staying for some time.

Thankfully, there was not so much as a whisper about her otherworldly origins.

The few looks of suspicion she had received had quickly melted away in the wake of her smiles and friendly demeanor. Any pretty girl carrying ale was bound to be well liked among his riders, but she had charmed almost everyone with her curiosity and interest in their lives, asking questions of all that she spoke to.

Eomer's lips twitched into a smile as she was approached by a small troop of blond-haired children; the children belonged to several of his riders, whose families were always welcome to join them for meals up in the hall.

She crouched down to speak to them and then laughed brightly when they had asked her if her hair was hot, like the flames of the hearth. She let them touch it, smiling anew at their coos over its softness, and then sent them off with kindly pats on the head.

She then approached him and half lifted her pitcher in a silent question; he held out his tankard for her to fill, finishing off the last of the ale she carried.

"May I join you?" she asked as she put the empty pitcher back on the table, having served most everyone in the hall.

"Aye." He made room on the bench for her. She sat down and looked around her. The hour was drawing late and many people had long since retreated either to their homes or the rider's barracks to one side of the courtyard below. There were a few pockets of people still sat at tables with their drinks and in one corner a man was tuning a fiddle.

"I'm curious, how much of what you've said is true?" he asked her, knowing full well that she was the source of most of the rumours that had circulated about her, the questions she had taken the time to ask and answer in turn nipping any other rumours in the bud.

"Most," she told him with a small, secretive smile. "I remember hearing that if you need to lie to someone, the best thing to do is stick to the truth as much as possible, only changing the facts that need to be changed."

"Your family?" he asked softly.

Charlotte briefly bit her lip, looking down at the table and letting it quickly drag through her teeth. "My mother left us when I was very young and my father was always a bit disinterested in raising a daughter," she told him, much to his surprise. "He remarried last year, to a woman not much older than me. He and his new wife are now expecting a child." She looked up and gave him a wan smile as she noticed his stunned expression; marriage was sacred and children were a blessing, he could scarcely comprehend parents leaving or not caring for their children. "It's fine, honestly. I do not really see them that often."

You do not live in your father's house?" he asked her curiously.

She shook her head. "No, not for several years," she replied, her eyes on the man with the fiddle, who had started to play a low, familiar melody that weaved it's way around the hall.

"You live with your husband then?" Eomer assumed, a deep frown creasing his brow. No husband had been mentioned in any of the rumours she had started, but that could well have been one of the details she had changed so as not to rouse questions of where he was. She had to be a little over twenty, old enough that she could well have left a husband and several children behind her in her world.

Charlotte smiled at him, clearly amused by this assumption. "Is it so incomprehensible to you that a woman might live on her own?" She raised one of her delicately arched brows at him.

"Aye, it is not safe for a woman to be on her own," Eomer said in response, his frown lingering.

She shook her head again. "There are not so many dangers where I come from," she said, and he found herself wondering about her world, a world where parents did not care for their children and women were left to fend for themselves. "Besides, I live with friends," she added quietly, and then a sad expression crossed her face. "They are the ones that I will miss."

He did not know how to respond to that and so a long silence fell between them. The melody played by the fiddler had been joined by low singing in Rohirric from some of his riders in the corner. The song was deep and resonant, the words familiar and comforting.

"What are they saying?" Charlotte asked him after a while, keeping her voice quiet out of reverence for the music.

"It is an old song about the Rohirrim," he told her, and then started to translate the words for her in a low voice.

"_Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?  
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?  
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?  
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?_

_They have passed like_ -"

"Like rain on the mountain, like wind in the meadow," Charlotte interrupted very quietly, her eyes still on the singers.

Eomer looked at her, astonished that she had known the line of the ancient Rohirric song. "...Your knowledge is extensive," he said eventually, hiding his shock.

"You can say that again," she agreed, still watching the fiddler.

She then turned and looked at him for a long moment, her eyes dark in the low light of the hall and her lips pressed thoughtfully together. "I … I wanted to thank you for letting me stay here, I could tell that you didn't really want to," she said softly, sounding genuinely grateful. "I promise I'll try not to get in the way."

Eomer exhaled a breath, feeling slightly guilty that she even felt the need to thank him. He couldn't think of his behaviour towards her this morning without abhorrence, despite her easy forgiveness, and knew that he had been less than enthusiastic when Gandalf had suggested her staying.

"In truth, lass, I imagine my life will barely be disrupted by your presence," he reassured, fully aware that he was unable to truly comprehend what she must be going through. "Whereas you have left your home, your family and friends, behind you." He paused, the continued singing weaving around them as a low melody. "You have my sympathy, truly."

"It's not so very bad, certainly it could be worse" she said optimistically, casting a small, wry smile his way. "I could have ended up in somewhere like Moria or Harad … or _Mordor_, after all."

His mouth twitched into a quick smile beneath his beard. "Or Dunland, the Dunlendings are positively vicious," he added, joining in her joke.

His smile then quickly faded at the mere thought of what could have happened to her if she had ended up in such places; she would have been lucky to have received a quick death, girl as pretty as her would have been kept alive for sport.

There was so much that could befall her, not to mention the fact that the White Wizard was seeking her. He may not have been overly enthused by the idea at first, but Gandalf had given him a duty to keep her safe and he intended to do just that.

"I will protect you, Charlotte," he added quietly, making her turn and smile softly at him. "And I hope you will consider this your home until such a time as you can return to your own."

"Thank you," she whispered, her gaze roving over his face.

There was another long silence between them, broken by the low singing, before she took a deep breath. "I believe I will go to sleep, it's been … a long day, to say the least," she commented somewhat wryly.

She got to her feet, but lingered beside him, her arms wrapped around her torso as if she was holding herself together. "Goodnight then ... Eomer." She inclined her head at him.

He nodded at her in turn. She then picked up the empty pitcher and turned away.

He watched her slip quietly between the pillars, the sound of her light footsteps lost among the deep Rohirric melody filling the hall. She paused only to bend and run a hand over the ears of one if the dogs as it raised its head at her passing, then vanished through the doors towards the kitchens, leaving Eomer alone with his thoughts once more.

* * *

**Leave a review, my lovelies!**

**Big thank you to BlackAquoKat for betaing for me, and thanks to everyone else who offered as well! **

**:)**


	4. Raefen

**Chapter 4 - Raefen**

* * *

"_**Bald bið se ðe onbyregeð boca cræftes." **__  
_"_Bold shall he be who tastes of the skill of books."_

_Solomon and Saturn II_

* * *

Charlotte came down the stairs the following morning to find the hall bustling loudly with activity. At least two dozen fully armed and armoured riders were having a hasty breakfast and provisions were being packed into saddlebags, with Maudig flitting around like a hummingbird between the men.

She paused in the doorway of the hall, wondering if this was normal for Aldburg or if something had happened to cause this stir.

She caught sight of Eomer across the room. He was deep in conversation with a young, blond haired boy and dressed in his dark red armour once again, his horsehair helm in one hand. He caught her eye as she lingered by the door of the hall and beckoned her over with an imperious flick of his fingers, then sent the boy off to one of the tables where a half packed saddlebag was waiting.

"You're leaving?" she guessed as she joined him, a small crease of concern on her brow as she looked up into his face.

She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about him going; she was only just coming to terms with her stay in Middle Earth and Eomer was the only one that she knew and trusted most in her brief time here, despite their initial meeting.

He was the only one that knew of her origins and had been something of a constant, almost a touchstone, over the past few days.

"Aye, hopefully just for a few days," he confirmed. He took her elbow and drew her over between two pillars for a measure of privacy in the busy hall. "We received word of a band of orcs travelling Eastwards across the plains," he told her, keeping his voice low.

"From Isengard?" Charlotte breathed with wide eyes.

Gandalf had said that Saruman would be seeking her and her knowledge, he must have sent the orcs out searching for her.

Eomer nodded. "While I am gone you are not to leave the walls of Aldburg except to go to the training yard, do you hear me?" he ordered, his voice stern and brooking no argument.

"Yes," she agreed, nodding fervently. The fact that Saruman was seeking her now seemed all the more real with the knowledge of the orcs prowling the plains.

"Come, follow me," Eomer said, and started leading her out of the hall. "See the lad over there?" He nodded his head towards the boy he had been speaking to who was packing the saddlebag, a serious expression on his young face. "That's my squire, Bryde. He has agreed to give you some riding lessons in the meantime."

"Oh," she said in understanding as they headed out onto the stone terrace and down the stairs to the courtyard; despite having agreed to the lessons, she didn't sound overly enthusiastic about the prospect even to her own ears.

Many horses had already been saddled up and brought out, so the courtyard was filled with people and animals. Eomer lead her deftly through, heading towards the main street. Less than a hundred yards from the courtyard was another long stable; she wondered briefly just how many stables there were in the town.

Eomer stopped at the sixth stall down on the left. Inside was a coal black horse, smaller and more slender than Firefoot, with a single white splodge on her brow and four white socks.

"This is Raefen." The horse put its head over the stall door and whickered softly, nudging its nose into his shoulder. "She belongs to one of the herdsmen on the East Emnet, but with Mordor raiding us for black horses we pulled them back for safety. She's one of the older mares, gentle and not as spirited." He rubbed the horse's neck and then glanced back at her. "At the moment lads from the town groom and exercise the horses every day," he explained. "You could take over for Raefen for your lessons. She will not object to a beginner."

Charlotte stepped closer, hesitantly reaching up to stroke the inky black mane. "She's lovely," she said as the horse curiously investigated her hand and snuffled at her clothing.

"Aye, she's a beauty. Very easy gait as well," Eomer agreed, patting Raefen once more before dropping his arm. "Here." He handed her an apple to feed to the horse that he seemed to have produced from thin air.

She held the apple out with flat fingers and Raefen almost delicately accepted it from her hand, nuzzling her for more treats afterwards in a way that was far less brash and demanding than Firefoot had been. Remembering her introduction to Firefoot yesterday, she let the horse simply investigate and sniff at her while she stroked down its neck.

There was a long silence and she was aware of Eomer watching her as she got acquainted with the horse in the dim light of the stables.

The noise from the courtyard, horse's hooves and men calling out to each other, grew louder and Eomer eventually sighed. "I have to go," he told her, sounding almost regretful.

Charlotte turned to look up at him, finding it very strange how hard she now found it to say goodbye to someone she had only met a few days ago; it was as if the secret they shared had already bound them tightly together.

She swallowed hard, acutely aware that he was going into a dangerous situation, one that was partly to do with her. "Please be careful," she said quietly.

He blinked once in obvious surprise at her words.

"I will," Eomer replied seriously, though there seemed to be a spark of … _something_, maybe amusement, in his eyes.

He pulled his helm on and gave her a long, inscrutable look. "Stay out of trouble," he added simply by way of goodbye.

He touched her briefly on the shoulder as he left her alone in the stable with the horses.

She reached up to pat Raefen on the neck, suddenly feeling very isolated in this strange world.

A few minutes later, she heard the clatter of hooves on the road outside and she hastened to the door once more.

Eomer was at the head of a column of about thirty riders, looking highly imposing astride Firefoot with his helm and his armour. He caught her eye from where she stood in the doorway of the stable. She half raised her hand in farewell and he nodded at her once more before he turned a corner and was lost to sight.

She watched until the last of the riders had vanished down the road and then heaved a sigh, feeling oddly anxious and listless as she headed back into the stables once more.

Raefen still had her head poked over the stall door, watching her curiously. She spent a few minutes stroking the horse's velvet nose and smooth neck, becoming acquainted with the horse she would be learning to ride.

There was a clatter at the door and the boy that Eomer had pointed out as his squire, Bryde, appeared pushing an old wooden wheelbarrow. The boy was probably about fourteen or fifteen and had the slightly gangly look of someone who hadn't quite grown into their height yet, with long, tangled blond hair that hung to his shoulders.

"I see ye've already met Raefen," he said in Westron. His accent was similar to Maudig's.

"Yes," Charlotte said, giving her a last pat. "You're Bryde, right?"

"Aye," the lad replied, pushing the barrow until it was right outside Raefen's stall door.

"I'm Charlotte," she told him, extending her hand.

He looked at it for a moment with a small frown and then shrugged, briefly grasping her hand with his own. She wondered for a moment if she had committed a faux pas. Perhaps women didn't shake hands in Rohan.

She took a deep breath. "So, when do we start?" She tried her best to muster enthusiasm for the daunting task ahead.

Bryde snorted. "Ye can start right now." He handed her a shovel and nodded his head at the soiled bedding in Raefen's stall. Charlotte felt her forced enthusiasm quickly wane as she gingerly took the shovel. "Normally the young lads from the town do this, but M'lord Eomer said ye're taking over for Raefen," he explained. "That means doing everything - feeding, mucking out, and grooming - every day."

"Right …" she said slowly, looking from the shovel, to the stall, to the barrow, and then back again.

"Dirty hay goes into the barrow, which ye can take to the pile outside the stables. A farmer will be by with a wagon to take it down to the fields later. There's fresh hay over there and ye can get water from the courtyard." Bryde picked up a large sack. "I'm going to see to some of my other duties, I'll be back in a bit."

And with that he left her alone with the horse.

Charlotte exhaled a breath and eyed the soiled, smelly hay. She then squared her shoulders and slipped open the stall door, patting Raefen on the flank as she passed. "Well, what better way to get to know someone, right?" she said to the horse with false cheer as she scooped her first load of hay.

Raefen whickered and lowered her head, as if agreeing with her.

It was dirty, smelly work but she persevered, not wanting to fall at this first hurdle. Raefen didn't seem to mind her presence in the stall at all as she peacefully munched on a bundle of hay. One ear flicked back to listen as Charlotte talked to the horse, chatting and telling it stories as a way to pass the time while she cleaned around it.

By the time she was finished she was covered in dirt and dust. Her arms ached from the constant shovelling and the barrow nearly tipped over as she took it outside to empty it. Then came the job of changing the water, which involved collecting buckets from the courtyard. She splashed a fair bit down her front, adding to her already soiled tunic.

Bryde appeared carrying a saddle and tack just as she was strewing fresh hay around for bedding. He rested the saddle over the stall door and inspected the stall, nodding his approval before showing her how best to arrange the hay and how much to fill the feed trough.

He then handed her a brush, explaining that if possible a horse should always be groomed before tacking up, lest loose hair or dirt under the saddle irritate it.

He let her groom Raefen on her own, saying that she had to get to know every inch of the horse. Meanwhile, he sat on a hay bale and polished some tack to a glossy shine. Charlotte tried to draw him into conversation, but she found that he was a serious and reticent lad. All he seemed interested in talking about was horses or the prospect of becoming a rider. She did, however, find out that he was Maudig's nephew.

Once she had finished grooming Raefen, paying particular attention to the area the saddle would go, he showed her how to check and pick her hooves. With that done, they started saddling up; Bryde did it for her, naming each part of the saddle and telling her to pay close attention.

Before long, Raefen was fully tacked up and ready to go. Charlotte thought that meant it was time to mount up, but Bryde had other ideas. After testing her on the different parts of the saddle, he removed the entire thing piece by piece. He then made _her_ saddle up the horse again, not holding back with his criticism whenever she did something wrong.

Twice he had her saddle up and take off the tack, with Raefen standing patiently the whole time. Charlotte could tell from his frowning expression that he was still not satisfied and could well understand; saddling a horse was much harder than she had anticipated and she had made more than a few mistakes.

Rather than saddle Raefen up again, Bryde showed her how to attach a lead rope to her halter and they headed down to the training yard on the outskirts of the town. Charlotte lead the way, cautious of Raefen's big, heavy hooves as she walked and aware of the curious looks she was still getting from people as she walked through the town.

She spent the morning learning and practising some basic commands, the queer Rohirric pronunciation catching in her throat. She learned commands for 'walk on', 'trot' and 'stop', with Raefen moving around her in a large circle on the lead rope while Bryde sat on the fence to watch, busy cutting apples into pieces.

She then learned and practiced the command for 'come here,' rewarding Raefen with the apples Bryde had cut whenever she obeyed.

Once the apples were finished they attached the lead rope again and took the horse down to one of the pastures. Bryde explained that Raefen would spend the afternoon grazing and running around, and that they would come back at sundown to bring her back up to the stables.

Charlotte trudged back up the hill towards the hall, already feeling worn out though it was scarcely midday.

Her work, however, was not over yet.

The pungent smell of lye filled the air as she approached the courtyard below the hall, coming from the far end of the high stone terrace near the kitchens. Maudig had great vats of steaming liquid and baskets of washing ready to be done, with several damp sheets already hung out to dry on ropes that had been tied between the hall and stables. Hollis and Annwyn, two of the women who worked in the hall who Charlotte had met the previous night, had removed their shoes, hitched up their skirts and were stomping on sodden mounds of clothes in low tubs.

Maudig spotted her and called her over with a cheerful wave. Charlotte managed a weak smile in turn as she joined them.

What followed was a busy few hours of fetching and carrying water, stirring the great vats of lye solution, stomping on clothes, beating and scrubbing them against washboards and wringing them out. The women taught her several songs as they worked and the time passed quickly. Everything was hung out to dry, the courtyard that had been filled with armed men and horses that morning now crisscrossed with washing lines and clothes that flapped in the strong breeze that came down from the mountains.

The women headed to the kitchen as the clothes dried, with Charlotte taking the chance to eat something since she hadn't had breakfast or lunch. Maudig clucked disapprovingly at her for that and it felt strange having someone fuss over her. The rest of the afternoon was spent preparing the evening meal, which was to be an ale stew. They chopped vegetables and meat in vast quantities, tossing it into large pots that would simmer away for several hours. In the meantime, there was a _lot_ of bread to be made.

Bryde came to find her just as the sun dipped towards the horizon. He hunkered away from his aunt as she seized him and spat on her apron to clean a smudge of dirt from his cheek.

Escaping the kitchen, Charlotte and Bryde ducked through the nearly dry washing and walked back down to the pastures with the lead rope to collect Raefen. It took several minutes for Charlotte to call her over in Rohirric, not having any apples to tempt her with, but Bryde refused to help, saying that Raefen had to learn to follow her orders without the promise of reward. The horse eventually came over and she attached the lead rope to lead Raefen back up to her stable for yet another grooming.

Raefen was very dusty from being in the field. She had managed to get her legs splattered with mud and a fair bit stuck in her hooves. It took Charlotte nearly an hour before she was satisfied that she had cleaned the horse thoroughly enough. With a final pat and a goodnight, she headed back up to the hall.

The washing had all been taken in and the meal was being served by the time she reached the hall again. She went to help, but Maudig handed her a plate and waved her away to sit down. Charlotte didn't object. She tucked heartily into her dinner and ate with gusto.

Much to her surprise, Bryde came to sit opposite of her. He didn't speak much, focused on his food, but she found she didn't mind his presence either way

With the meal finished, Charlotte gathered in empty plates and tankards from around the hall to take back to the kitchen. She then helped with the washing up, using hot water bubbling away in a large cauldron over the fire especially for the purpose.

Night had truly fallen by the time the kitchen and hall was clear. Charlotte stretched, her back popping slightly, and yawned hugely.

Maudig appeared with a large empty bucket, filling it with the last of the hot water from cauldron and swinging it off the dying fire so it didn't boil dry. She then heaved it over and plopped it down at Charlotte's feet, putting her hands on her hips.

"There ye go, child," she said, nodding down at the steaming bucket with a smile. "I'd say ye'd earned that!"

Charlotte, bone-tired and stinking of horses and lye, honestly could have kissed her.

It was a long trek up the stairs to her room with the heavy bucket, but well worth it for the opportunity to wash. Maudig, bless her heart, had lit a fire in the small grate in her room, so the whole area was toasty warm and lit with the faint orange glow of the flames.

She used half of the water to scrub the mud and dust off her skin, then the other half to wash her hair over the basin as best she could. She poured the water back into the ewer several times to rinse it fully.

She halfheartedly pulled the comb through her hair, yawning as she worked out the tangles, then simply plaited it while it was still wet, tying it off with a small leather thong. She pulled her nightdress on over her still damp skin and crawled into the bed beneath the warm furs.

She fell asleep in moments.

* * *

Eomer's face was set into a snarl as he brought Guthwine down in a fierce slash across the back of a fleeing orc. Firefoot pivoted, trumpeting a challenge as he hacked down another orc before the beast could even raise its crude sword.

The battle had been over in mere seconds.

They had easily picked up the orc's trail nearly a day's ride from Aldburg and pursued them at speed, quickly catching up. The beasts had fled before their thundering hooves, but in vain. All were slaughtered.

Eomer dismounted his horse and looked around the battlefield - the dead orcs were spread across a fair distance, having tried to run.

"How many?" he asked Deven as he approached, cleaning the black blood off his sword with a rag.

"Nearly two dozen orcs, by my count," Devan reported. "No casualties on our side, the beasts were too busy fleeing to fight."

He scowled despite the good news. "The report said that the band was nearly sixty strong," he said pointedly, knowing that this couldn't be it.

"Aye," Deven agreed with a nod.

Eomer clenched his jaw and sheathed his sword, thinking for a moment.

"Send riders back along the trail, find where the others split off," he ordered, unwilling to let his quarry escape. "Tell them they are not to engage, just find out how many bands we are now dealing with and report back."

Moments later the scouts were galloping off back down the trail. The rest of the riders started to pile the stinking carcasses to burn.

Eomer roughly pushed over one of the orcs he had killed with his foot, noting with grim satisfaction that his sword had nearly completely severed the beast's neck, leaving it hanging by only a sinew.

He had always hated orcs, since long before he had even seen his first one. His father had been killed by a band of them near Emyn Muil when he had been nigh eleven summers old, having ridden out recklessly in pursuit with too few men behind him. As a lad he had thrown himself into his training with the determination to become a rider and avenge his father, as well as the dozens of other good men he had known that had been killed by the beasts over the years.

Somehow that coldly burning flame in his chest was never quenched, no matter how many he killed since riding out with his first patrol at the age of fifteen.

He had his father's temper, he knew that well enough. Theodred had called him reckless in battle more than once.

_These beasts were looking for Charlotte_, he thought, using his foot to turn the orc's nearly severed head even more so that he could get a better look at the frozen fear on its face. He couldn't help but remember her sad, resigned expression the night before as she had actually _apologised_ for the inconvenience of her staying in Rohan and her obvious concern that morning.

He knew the White Wizard wanted the information she held, but if the orcs had captured her then they would have likely made sport of her on the way back to Isengard. She may not have survived the journey.

The thought sickened him. He was filled with a sudden fury, like he was still in the heat of battle.

He quickly seized the orc's fallen spear and planted it deep in the ground next to the growing mound of bodies. Then, kneeling on the ground, he tore off the mostly severed head of the orc he had killed with his bare hands and jammed it forcefully on the end of the spear.

_Let that stand as a warning to any other enemies that dare enter the Riddermark._

He stared at the severed head atop of the spear, the sight of it doing little to quell the anger still flooding through him.

With no other enemies immediately before him to take his aggression out on, he dragged the headless corpse to the pyre and then wiped the sticky black blood off his hands.

It wasn't long before the carcasses were piled high and one of his riders handed him a flaming torch to light the pyre.

He paused, looking at the flickering orange flames.

His thoughts turned to Charlotte once again. He thought of the way the lights of the hearth had danced in the bright red of her hair as she moved around the hall, speaking to any and all, adults and children alike.

How _strange_ it had been to have been to have someone concerned over him as he had left that morning, someone telling him to take care in battle - a welcome strangeness, one that seemed to fill a gap he had not known had existed until that moment.

_I promised Gandalf I would protect her, the White Wizard will not have her._

Then, with new determination, he thrust the torch beneath the mutilated bodies and watched the flames spread.

"My lord Eomer," one of the scouts called some time later, galloping back down the trail and dismounting before the burning pyre to make his reports. "The trail splits into three several leagues Westward, one band heading northeast, one east, and the one we have already destroyed was heading southeast. Based on the tracks the bands are of roughly equal size."

Eomer glanced westwards. The sun nearly touched the horizon over the plains, hints of reds and purples colouring the clouds, giving them less than an hour of daylight. They could camp here and pick up the cold trails in the morning, which would be the safer option even though it would take far longer, or they could pursue them now even as night fell.

His men were looking to him for instruction.

"Mount up," he shouted, gesturing for his horse.

He was his father's son, after all.

* * *

The next day found Charlotte sitting gingerly on a saddle perched on top of a hay bale rather than a horse while Bryde corrected her posture and foot positioning. He showed her the different seating positions for walking, trotting, cantering and galloping, and told her repeatedly that she wasn't keeping her heels down. It was much trickier than it appeared, and she wasn't even on a moving horse.

Raefen, freshly mucked out and brushed until she was gleaming, had her head poked over the stall door as she munched on hay. She was apparently intrigued by the proceedings, waiting patiently for them to take her down to the training yard and pastures.

Once they finished at the training yard, having spent the morning practicing commands with Raefen on a lead rope, Charlotte headed back up to the hall to help Maudig with the morning jobs. A couple of hours later, with the bread in the ovens and the stew bubbling away over the fires, she found herself with some free time before she needed to bring Raefen back to the stables.

She headed up to the second floor towards her room. Eomer had told her she was in Eowyn's old room and over the past few days she had realised with no small amount of surprise that she was the _only_ one housed up here with him gone. The riders were housed in barracks to the side of the courtyard, while Maudig and the other serving ladies had houses of their own in the town. Eomer had clearly been in earnest when he had said he wanted to keep a close eye on her.

There were several doors on the second floor and she found herself curious to explore the place she was to call home for the foreseeable future further.

She was most intrigued by the set of double doors at the very far end of the corridor; surely the building ended there and the doors could lead to nowhere. She had tried looking up from the terrace while doing laundry, but the view up to the second floor was blocked by the awning and pillars.

She was surprised to find that the doors, while stiff, were unlocked. They led to a small balcony that looked out up the valley and towards the mountains. She realised they must be on top of the awning she had seen, between the pillars. On the balcony was an empty brazier, a rusting wrought iron table and two chairs. They clearly hadn't been used in some time, which seemed a shame since the view was so beautiful.

As she investigated the other rooms along the corridor, she came across two locked rooms that she didn't try to force. She had no desire to abuse Eomer's trust by going somewhere forbidden.

She moved on and also found a fair sized storeroom containing numerous chests, some locked, some unlocked. Everything was dark and dusty, lit with shafts of light that cut through the darkness to pool on the floor. In the unlocked chests she found linen, clothes belonging to both men and women that had been folded with lavender to keep them fresh, as well as a set of armour that clearly hadn't been used in some time.

Another door lead to a room of a similar size and shape to Eowyn's, though it was packed up, no sheets on the bed and dust sheet over the furniture. There was a small crudely carved wooden horse high on the windowsill that had fallen to its side. It looked lonely up there in the dust, so Charlotte rescued it, putting it upright and leaving it in a little patch of sunlight. As she did so, she noticed Eomer's name carved into the sill in jagged letters and smiled to herself. This must be his childhood bedroom.

The corridor revealed several other smaller bedrooms as well, less grand than the others, all of them covered with dust sheets.

The best find, however, was a rather small room with high windows that flooded it with light and had some comfortable, though dusty chairs arranged in front of a cold fireplace. The room contained an absolute treasure trove: several well-worn books of varying size, handwritten in beautiful calligraphy.

Heart pounding with excitement at the find, she sat down to investigate them, handling them with the uttermost care. They were all written in Westron save one, which appeared to be some form of Elvish, and consisted of Gondorian eddas, histories, and poems.

She had just sat down on the dusty floor to read one of the poems when she heard the distinctive sound of many horses in the courtyard below.

_Eomer._

She hastily put the books back where she had found them and brushed the dust off her dress.

Charlotte dashed down stairs and out onto the terrace, the wind catching in her hair. The courtyard was filled with riders, some still mounted while others lead their horses away. Many of them were spattered with dirt and gore, but none looked particularly hurt. She couldn't see Eomer anywhere but had a good guess of where to find him.

She weaved her way between the riders and horses, almost getting trampled twice before she could enter the stable. There were several other riders in the stable seeing to the horses as well, but sure enough, Eomer was in the far stall with Firefoot, who was still tacked up. He glanced up at her as she approached.

"You're back," she said, relief colouring her tone. She then noticed that he was using a cloth to sponge mud and blood off Firefoot's flanks, his own hands and face streaked with it. "Are you alright?" she asked, her voice coming out in a gasp as she gripped the top of the stall door with white-knuckled hands.

"Aye, 'tis not my blood - nor his," he added, nodding his head towards Firefoot as he worked. His lilting voice had a faint rasp to it, as if he had recently been shouting.

"What happened?" Her eyes moved over him with concern, noting the blood dried on his armour, the black gore under his nails and the dirty scrape over his knuckles.

"We caught the orcs before they had made it too far Eastwards. Fortunately they hadn't been interested in pillaging any of the herds or farmsteads on the plains." He finished with the cloth and tossed it over the stall door. "They had split into three bands but we routed them easily enough." He cast her a smile that looked oddly incongruous on his dirt-streaked face and started to undo the tack. "They were quick battles, I assure you."

"Was anyone hurt?" she wanted to know, unable to believe that none of the blood was his.

"A few minor scrapes and bruises." He was focused on the buckles of his saddle. "One of the horses took a tumble in the battle and will need to rest for a week or so before being ridden again."

"Do you want me to look at anyone? I've done first aid training so I'm pretty good with minor injuries," she offered, still gripping the stall door.

Eomer gave her a surprised look. "Nay, I sent them to be looked over by the healer when we arrived. Thank you though, I'll keep it in mind for next time," he assured her.

He lifted off the saddle and went to put it on the wall-mounted rack in one corner. He then grabbed two of the brushes. "Here, come help with this." He tossed one of them in her direction and she caught it clumsily. "We'll see how your grooming skills have improved."

She slipped into the stall. Firefoot gave a slight protesting snort but stopped at a stern Rohirric word from Eomer. She let him snuffle at her before she started grooming him and he gave a huff, as if reluctantly giving his permission for her to be there. He was certainly harder to please than Raefen, who seemed to have endless patience and was a glutton for anyone willing to dish out a few neck pats.

There was silence between them even as the rest of the stable bustled with riders untacking and grooming their horses. Charlotte looked at him as he worked, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the lines around his mouth. "You look tired," she observed quietly. She wondered if he had slept at all since he left.

"Aye, it was a long few days with little rest." He moved around the back of the horse to join her on the same side, grooming the flanks while she worked on the neck.

She wrinkled her nose at his proximity. Along with the now familiar smell of horse was the unmistakable, carrion reek of the charnel house, of blood and gore. "Also, don't take this the wrong way, but you stink of horse and - and -"

To her surprise, Eomer laughed. "The smell of blood I apologise for, but as for smelling of horse …" he grinned at her. "Welcome to the Riddermark, min hlaefdige."

"Min … hlaefdige?" she repeated, stumbling a little over the Rohirric pronunciation.

"My lady," he told her, smoothing a firm hand over the part he had just brushed.

"Oh." She remembered that everyone had been calling him 'My lord Eomer' since she had arrived. "Should I be calling you my lord?" Had she unconsciously broken etiquette in not doing so?

"Eomer will suffice," he said to her, his smile lingering.

There was another brief silence between them. "How have you settled in?"

It seemed like a bizarre question to ask when he was wearing armour and covered in blood and dirt.

"Well enough," she said honestly, thinking of how busy she had been and people's kindness towards her. "It's certainly very different to what I'm used too," she added with a small smile. She had resolved never to take her washing machine for granted again after the afternoon of doing laundry.

"And Raefen?" He went around the back of Firefoot and picked up one of his hooves to check it.

"She's lovely, but I've not even ridden her yet," she said with faint exasperation, making Eomer snort in amusement. "Bryde has had me grooming her and sitting on a saddle on a hay bale."

"Rightly so. You must know a horse before you can ride it," he told her as he moved to pick up another hoof.

"That's what he says, though he has mentioned that we will probably start riding tomorrow." She thought of Raefen still in the field. "I should go, I need to get her from the pastures and then Maudig will probably need me in the kitchen," she said reluctantly, hanging the brush back up on the hook.

She paused at the stall door, looking back at Eomer and meeting his eyes. "I'm glad you're back safe." It seemed the best way to express how strangely concerned she had been and how happy she now was that he was back.

Eomer simply nodded at her, his eyes surprisingly warm, and she slipped away out of the stables.

* * *

The hour was late and the hall was silent and still.

Eomer had taken the time earlier to hastily wash the blood and dirt off, change into fresh clothes and clean and oil his armour, but had then headed straight to his study to work through the ledgers.

He yawned hugely. The candles lighting his desk flickered in the darkness and made his head pound. He wanted nothing more than to go to bed, but had a mountain of work to catch up on and knew that he would soon be heading back out on patrol once more so there was little other time to get the books done.

Nearly two hours later, with his wrist aching, ink splattering his hand and the candles almost burned down completely, he closed the ledger he had been working on and sat back in his chair.

He yawned again and heaved himself upwards, his back creaking from having been hunched over the books. He blew out all of the candles bar one, which he took to light his way to his room. He automatically locked the study door behind him (it contained the strong boxes with rents and wages, so it was a precaution rather than anything else) and headed down the corridor.

He found himself pausing outside Eowyn's old room, finding a strange need to check on Charlotte. He attributed the feeling to the fact that he had spent the past days hunting and killing the orcs that had been searching for her. Slowly, so as not to wake her, he pushed the door open a crack.

All was still in the room and he could hear the faint, even sound of her breathing. The candlelight caught on her red hair, spread out over the pillow. She was curled up under the blankets and furs with her back to the door, sound asleep and peaceful.

After closing the door, he continued down the corridor to his own chambers and the welcome comfort of his own bed. Sleep quickly claimed him.

The next morning he spent some time sparring with some of his younger riders before heading over to the horse training grounds. As always, it was reasonably busy, with people practicing skills like shooting or throwing spears from horseback, mounting a moving horse and jumps, but in one corner was Charlotte and Bryde.

Bryde had Raefen on a long rope and Charlotte was just mounting up, probably for the very first time. It took her several attempts to mount even using a mounting block and he could see Bryde trying to hide his exasperation at how hesitant she was being. Once she was finally in the saddle her seat was beyond terrible. Even from this distance he could see how gingerly she was sitting. He leant on the fence to watch curiously as she walked Raefen in wide circles around Bryde, who was telling her to keep her heels down with the air of one getting tired of repeating themselves.

Her bright hair shone like burnished copper in the morning sunlight, an elegant contrast to Raefen's glossy black coat. Her face was set into a look of pure determination as she inexpertly guided the horse in a circle, still not keeping her heels down despite Bryde's constant reminders.

As if sensing his gaze, she glanced up and caught him watching. She grinned at him from atop of the horse, looking thoroughly proud of herself even though her riding was absolutely appalling.

Eomer felt his own mouth twitch upwards in response to her smile and something shifted in his chest at the sight of her, much like the gentle nudging of heels into a horse's flanks that sent it into motion.

* * *

**Many thanks to the lovely BlackAquoKat for betaing!**

**Leave a review, my darlings! :)**


	5. Min hlaefdige

**Chapter 5 - Min hlaefdige**

* * *

"_**Se forholena cræft and forhyded gold ne bið ællunga ungelice."**__  
_"_Concealed skill and hidden gold are not entirely unalike."_

_Instructions for Christians_

* * *

The next two weeks passed uneventfully, aside from pangs of homesickness on Charlotte's part. Eomer was often coming and going on patrols and she quickly got the sense that it was the norm for him to be gone from Aldburg for days at a time.

She had been surprised to realise that there was very little talk or suspicion surrounding her. She had found that the Rohirrim were straight forward, honest people, if a little rough around the edges at times, who had responded to her efforts to be friendly with equal measure.

Charlotte even had some tentative friendships blooming. Maudig was, of course, kind to everyone and already treated her like family. A middle aged woman named Hollis had taken her under her wing as well as her own daughter, Annwyn, both of whom worked at the hall. It meant that time spent in the kitchen or doing laundry was pleasant, full of conversation and laughter, which eased her longings for home a little.

She had also gotten to know several of the riders who were happy to have her join them at meals. Some of the younger men, like Aldhelm (Annwyn's betrothed), Halas, and Winfred were particularly amusing with their wild, no doubt embellished stories of being out on patrol as they tried to out-do each other with their tales, whereas Devan, an older rider, was always happy to talk about his family or discuss riding tips with her.

The only person who hadn't truly warmed to her seemed to be Eothain, a captain in one of Eomer's Eoreds. He was always polite and civil, but there was an undeniable coolness in his behavior. He would occasionally watch her with a hint of suspicion or caution; he was clearly a man whose trust had to be earned.

Young Bryde retained his serious demeanor and would rarely say much that wasn't related to horses or riding, yet he still sought her company even outside of her lessons. He even moved Raefen to the courtyard stable, where his own horse, Windchaser, was housed a few stalls down from Firefoot. They would groom the horses in companionable silence or he would explain different parts of their care in greater detail.

Charlotte had a sneaking suspicion that Eomer had told Bryde to keep an eye on her while he was gone, but found that she didn't mind all that much.

She felt like her riding lessons were going well and that she was making good progress with Raefen. She was still told daily that her seat was bad and that she needed to keep her heels down, but she could walk and trot the horse around the training yard off the lead rope with growing confidence.

She was busy picking Raefen's feet after a lesson when she heard the distant horns from the watchtowers. She looked up and smiled to herself.

The riders were back.

* * *

Dinner had finished and the riders were milling around the hall, talking, laughing and generally making merry after returning from patrol.

Eomer was sitting with Aldhelm when Charlotte approached him with a soft, nervous smile. She held a fresh ale in one of the larger tankards and her hair gleamed in the firelight.

"Thank you." Eomer took the tankard from her with a nod and smile of his own.

"Here, where's mine then, lass?" Aldhelm asked, leaning forwards over the table.

Charlotte's smile widened into one with a hint of mischief about it. "I do believe Annwyn has one waiting for you in the kitchen. Her mother has already gone home for the night." She winked and tipped her head in that direction.

"Ah, well in that case …" Aldhelm quickly finished the rest of his drink in several gulps and swiped a rough hand over his beard. He rose from his seat with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows, then hastened his way out of the hall accompanied by the laughter of others. Aldhelm and Annwyn were trothplighted, bound to marry just as soon as Aldhelm had raised enough funds to move from the rider's barracks to a house of their own.

Charlotte bit her lip and then lowered herself into Aldhelm's empty seat as Eomer took a mouthful of the ale she had brought. "There is something I wanted to ask you."

Eomer glanced between her and the ale in his hand, suddenly having the distinct impression that the extra-large tankard had been an attempt to butter him up.

"Go ahead," he invited, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement at these tactics.

She hesitated, and then seemed to steel herself. He wondered what she could possibly be so apprehensive about asking him as he took another mouthful of ale.

"I was … well, I was exploring upstairs and I managed to find a few books in English - Westron, as you call it - in one of the disused rooms and - _are you alright_?"

Eomer had abruptly choked on his ale, spraying a fair bit of it back into the tankard.

She stood up and slapped him sharply on the back a few times as he coughed into his fist, speaking anxiously over him. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have snooped -"

He waved away her hands. "You can _read_?" he demanded incredulously just as soon as he managed to take a proper breath.

"I - of course." She sounded more than a little perplexed by the question.

Eomer exhaled a long, shaky breath. "A rare skill," he said, looking at her with widened eyes.

She blinked in sudden understanding and lowered herself back into her seat once more. "Oh, it's not so rare in my world." She kept her voice low so as not to be overheard; they had already drawn a bit of attention to their conversation with his choking. "Almost everyone can read, we learn at school."

"School ..." he breathed to himself; Theodred had spoken passionately of starting such a thing in Rohan after having seen one on a trip to Gondor. They had no intention of turning every farrier, herdsman and stable boy into great readers, but basic reading and numbers would help any child in a profession.

There was a brief silence as he contemplated her words.

Charlotte swallowed and then her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "Anyway, I didn't want to just read them without permission, but I was wondering …" She trailed off and looked at him beseechingly, half raising one shoulder by way of asking permission.

"You wish to read the books, the ones in the ladies' solar," he deduced easily enough. He did not particularly mind that she had snooped, as she put it, even though it was his mother's old private sitting room. The only places kept locked in the hall were his chambers and study. He probably would have done the same in her position.

He took a fortifying sip of ale, a sudden idea whirring in his mind. "Do you enjoy reading?" He took care to keep his voice neutral.

Charlotte smiled shyly at him. "I was at University before, you know, coming here." There was a small hint of sadness in her voice as she was no doubt reminded of her home.

"University?" he questioned, not having heard the word before.

"Oh, it's a place where you go to learn, beyond that which they teach you a school." She seemed unaware of just how alien this was to him - he was considered very well read and educated among his people, but it appeared that she was a _scholar_. "I was studying history there, in fact I was doing research on ancient Neolithic sites when I suddenly found myself in Rohan," she added, casting a wry smile at him.

"Can you do figures as well?" Eomer fixed his full attention on her face; she could well be the answer to many of his problems.

She blinked. "Figures?"

"Numbers," he clarified.

She had scarcely even nodded before he jumped to his feet, beckoning for her to follow him. "Come with me."

He led her out of the hall and up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She trailed after him at a slower pace. He stopped at his study door and unlocked it with the key from his belt.

He heard her faint gasp as he opened the door, stepping back to allow her to enter first. Her ash grey eyes were wider than he had ever seen them as they took in the large desk strewn with ledgers and inkwells and the full bookshelves behind it. Eomer moved past her to the desk as she turned on the spot in the centre of the room, still gazing around her.

"What do you make of this?" he asked, opening a large book bound in dark green leather upon the desk; it started in a rather careful, feminine hand before changing to his own more jagged script.

Charlotte came round the back of the desk, standing next to him as she leaned over slightly to look at the book. He watched as she ran a finger down a column of numbers and then turned back a few pages, noting where the hand changed. She turned back a few pages more, then returned to the most recent entry.

"It's an account of the rents for the farms and villages surrounding Aldburg," she said simply and Eomer puffed out a breath that he hadn't realised he had been holding.

She continued looking through the ledger as she spoke, running her finger over the headings and columns as she made her deductions. "Rent is collected in the autumn and spring. The amount seems to depend on the amount of land, the size of the family and the produce they provide ... If they cannot pay the full amount in money then there are other ways they contribute: food, livestock or service in the hall or patrols …"

"What of this one?" He opened and handed her a different ledger.

She seemed a bit bemused by all of this, but gamely repeated the process of looking over it.

"A weekly account of food costs for the hall," she said after nary a moment. "The weekly budget seems to be five silvers, which is drawn from a lump sum. Any leftover coins go back into the pot, with a record of the new amount." She suddenly looked up at him, her finger paused on the column of numbers. "How many coppers are there to a silver?"

"Sixty, with twelve silvers to a gold," he replied, blinking as he followed her leaps in deduction.

"Don't suppose you know the exchange rate to pounds," she muttered nonsensically, then made a curious humming noise as she looked back at the ledger. "Are the coins all minted?"

Eomer stared at her.

"I went to the market with Maudig and I noticed the coins had stamps on them, horseshoes on the coppers and horses on the silvers," she elaborated, looking up at him once more when he didn't reply. "Do all the coins have them?"

"Aye, every coin in the Ridddermark comes from the King's coin masters in Edoras," he said, running a hand through his long, tangled hair. "Means that all golds, silvers and coppers are the same size and weight. It's why folk are so distrusting of outsiders. A gold coin of theirs may be worth less than ours."

"That's good, it would make keeping track accurately near impossible if they weren't, five silvers one week may buy considerably less than another week if they were different sizes - assuming, that is, that people don't clip the coins. That was a big problem in the Middle Ages," she added absently, returning her attention back to the book.

Eomer rubbed one hand slowly over the lower half of his face as he continued to stare at her, amazed by how sharp she was. Clipping the unminted coins and the subsequent discrepancies of value had been the main reason the King's coin masters and the minting had been introduced, with heavy punishment for anyone caught clipping the new minted coins.

She flipped a little further through the ledger. "There is no record of the actual purchases though, so they must be in a separate ledger or inventory …"

They were, but the food inventory hadn't been done properly in months.

She finally noticed him staring at her.

"... What?" she asked, sounding more than a little self-conscious at his scrutiny.

He shook his head and handed her one of the largest books, this one bound in dark brown leather. "What about this?"

Charlotte huffed as she cracked open the huge tome then there was a brief pause as she looked through. "The riders' wages," she figured out quickly. "They earn a different amount depending on their rank in the Eored. If patrols go over the expected amount of days they receive extra …" She looked up at him. "Why are some of them continued in a different colour? And why are they suddenly getting less?" she demanded, her finger paused on the name of a rider who had fallen earlier in the year.

"They are the riders that fell on patrol," he explained. "The money that goes out is a small stipend for their widows."

"Oh …" she said quietly, then continued to look through the book.

He watched as her face fell into a frown of confusion.

"Where are the wages coming from? And the pot for the food costs as well?" she wanted to know. "Is it the same one that the rents go into? There must be an overall treasury or something that's being debited."

"Aye, that one over there is the treasury ledger," he said weakly, pointing at the largest ledger bound in dark red leather on his desk. "You're right, the rents and hall account feed into that as well."

She shrugged nonchalantly, apparently unaware of how incredible her skills were. "Your basic, double entry bookkeeping system then," she said, sounding pleased for having puzzled it out. "Simple enough, nothing complicated about it ... Seriously, _what_?" she asked him, clearly growing bothered by his intense staring.

Eomer let out another shaky breath and leaned against the desk, folding his arms as he looked down at her. "Maintaining the ledgers is a thankless task," he told her honestly. "Eothain's wife, Dernhild, was one of the few round these parts who can read and she did them since our old housekeeper died two summers past, but she gave birth to twins a few weeks ago and I've been doing them since."

Charlotte glanced down at the open ledger, noting where the hand changed to his own; he wondered if she also marked the ink spots and occasional smudges he had made on the long, exhausting nights with a flickering candle.

"Maudig knows well enough what to buy for the hall but trying to catch up on the accounts themselves after being on patrol for weeks at a time involves a fair bit of running around after the staff and lots of late nights," he continued. "The inventories haven't been recorded in weeks properly in weeks. Maudig does her best with simply tallying up the produce that comes in from the markets, but she has very little notion of the figures themselves."

Charlotte nodded, her hand lingering on the page. "And now you want me to do them?" she inferred quietly, still looking down at the book.

"I hadn't given much thought to how you will occupy your time while you are here, but just serving in the hall would be a waste of your talent." He tried his best to keep the beseeching tone out of his voice.

It appeared that she saw right through him since she suddenly grinned up at him. "You just want someone to take them off your hands," she said in amusement.

Her smile faltered as she looked back down at the books. "You know, I've not actually done anything like this on this scale, if I make mistakes -"

"Even if you make mistakes you'll probably still do a better job than I was," he said firmly, honestly. "I have neither the time, nor patience for such things. My strengths are on the battlefield, not in the study."

She pursed her lips, drawing his attention to their pale rose colour and fullness. "I'll do them on one condition."

Eomer raised a brow. "And that is?"

She grinned once more, her silvery eyes sparkling. "You let me read the books in here too."

He laughed loudly and extended a hand. "Done."

They shook on it, his large, calloused hand enveloping her smaller, soft one.

"Thank you," he added genuinely. He briefly covered their joined hands with his other one and squeezed gently as he gazed down at her, finding himself grateful that this other-worldly woman had tumbled into his life. "You are full of surprises, Charlotte."

Her smile lingered as their hands slipped apart. "I'm happy to do it. I only hope I won't let you down."

"You won't, I am certain of it," he told her honestly, having already been highly impressed with her skills.

There was a brief, warm silence between them as they simply looked at each other.

For the first time, he marked what she was wearing: a dark green gown that laced up at the front over a white chemise, the colour making her skin look like cream. Her hair had been partially pulled back, but large copper curls tumbled around her shoulders and he noticed for the first time the faint spray of freckles across her nose.

She really was quite lovely.

He broke his gaze and bent down to retrieve a fair-sized key from one of the desk drawers, the twin of the one on his own belt. He held it out to her, making a slight bow as he did so.

"What's this?" she asked, taking the key and examining it.

"_That_ is the key to this study, min hlaefdige." He had called her min hlaefdige, my lady, in jest several days ago, but it appeared she was truly worthy of the title.

She glanced around the room with a smile of her own and ran a hand over the spines of some of the books on the shelves. "You know, I think I will be spending quite a lot of time in here," she said in a thoroughly content tone.

* * *

The next afternoon found Charlotte covered in dust as she investigated the stores beneath the hall after her riding lessons. There were cellars beneath the kitchen built into the rock itself. They were dark and cool, the perfect place for stockpiling vegetables, eggs or salted meats. She had the inventory ledger in hand and a quill between her teeth as she counted. She placed the ink pot on whatever shelf happened to be nearby.

After having looked over the previous inventories, especially poor Maudig's gallant, but ultimately unproductive, efforts at tallying up produce, she had decided to go back to the beginning and completely change the system. She had drawn up a new table on a fresh page with numerous different columns that organised the produce by category.

Maudig came down the stairs, balancing a plate of bread and cheese in one hand and a small earthenware tankard of what was probably apple cider in the other. "Where are ye, child? M'lord Eomer said you were down here," she called, looking around the various stone coves and cubbies that made up the storeroom.

"Here," Charlotte called after taking the quill out from between her teeth and standing up from where she had been kneeling on the floor counting onions, completely unaware that she had just smeared ink on her cheek.

"Oh, bless ye, girl." Maudig clucked over the dirty stains on Charlotte's knees and face. "Come over here and have a bite to eat."

Dusting off her knees, Charlotte came to sit on the steps with the old cook.

"Now then, I hear ye're doing the books," Maudig said like she was divulging a secret, smiling brightly as Charlotte took a mouthful of the sweet cider.

"I am," she confirmed. Her face fell a little. "It seems like a big job though. I might have less time to help in the kitchens," she said regretfully.

"Oh fiddle-dee, that's not a problem! A hlaefdige needn't concern herself with scrubbing pots!" Maudig waved her protest aside.

Charlotte blinked - apparently the title of hlaefdige had caught on and she had undergone something of a status change.

"Now then, why did ye no' tell me you were learn'd with such things?"

With her mouth full of the bread and cheese, she couldn't reply. That didn't seem to bother Maudig, who carried on speaking, sounding for all the world like a proud grandmother.

"I should'e guessed, a bright thing like ye," she said happily. "Ah, m'lord Eomer needs someone to help him run things and we haven't had a proper hlaefdige in some time. Household affairs aren't for the men te deal with." She actually reached over to pinch Charlotte's cheek, rubbing at the ink and tutting at the lingering stain. "I'm happy he has ye, lass."

"Well, I'm … happy to help," she replied with a fair bit of bemusement after finally swallowing her mouthful of food.

"I'll leave ye to it."

She then surprised Charlotte by reaching over to hug her tightly, engulfing her with the scent of baked bread that hung about the old cook. Charlotte tentatively hugged her back, suddenly overwhelmed with memories of her own grandmother, who had died when she had been a girl.

Maudig drew back and affectionately patted the cheek she had just pinched, a fond smile on her kind face. "T'was a blessed day when ye arrived, child."

* * *

It took Charlotte nearly four days to complete the inventory of Aldburg to her satisfaction, especially since she kept spotting things that didn't quite add up. With Eomer back on patrol in the Eastern Plains, she had to find someone else to go to for advice.

She hesitated outside the door that Hollis had directed her to, unsure of the welcome she would receive since Captain Eothain still seemed at least mildly suspicious of her.

However, it was not Eothain she was coming to see.

She gathered her courage and knocked on the door. She winced when a baby started squalling within.

A tall, statuesque woman with a crying baby on her hip opened the door. She was the atypical Rohirrim, tall and slender with long flaxen hair. Her expression was stern, however there were faint lines around her eyes and mouth that spoke of a woman who laughed often.

"Excuse me, are you Dernhild?" Charlotte tucked the ledgers she held tightly under one arm.

"I am," the woman responded in Westron with nary an accent. She looked her up and down curiously, her eyes lingering on the books she held.

"I'm Charlotte," she said when it appeared Dernhild wasn't going to say more.

"I know who you are." She adjusted the quieting baby on her hip as she continued to scrutinise her. "The town has been fair buzzing with talk of you since you arrived. And we've all seen you trying to find your seat in the training yard."

Charlotte felt her cheeks warm ever so slightly, unaware that her riding lessons had been an object of scrutiny or discussion, perhaps even ridicule. "Yes, well ... I hadn't ridden a horse before coming here," she said in a low mutter, then hitched the heavy ledgers higher under her arm again. "I've been helping Eomer with the accounts and I have a few questions for you, if you don't mind," she said, deciding to get straight to the point.

Dernhild raised her eyebrows and stepped aside. "You'd best come in, I'll put some tea on for us."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Charlotte stepped into the house. It wasn't overly large, but it was neat and tidy. The front door lead straight onto a kitchen that had a large clay oven, herbs hanging from the ceiling, and a table and chairs in the centre. Dernhild waved her into one of the chairs and then swung the kettle over the fire to boil. As she did so, more crying started in the other room.

"The joys of twins, one stops and the other starts," she sighed. She then dumped the baby she held onto Charlotte's lap. "You hold on to him, I'll go and get the other."

Nonplussed, Charlotte patted the squirming baby on the bottom and awkwardly tried to rock her arms; she had never held a baby before, so this was a completely new experience for her.

Dernhild came back, now holding another wailing baby. With one hand she deftly spooned tea leaves into a pot and filled it with water from the kettle before sitting down.

"Now, while that steeps, what is it I can help you with?" Dernhild pinned her with a somewhat stern gaze.

Charlotte took a breath, grateful that she had put the ledgers down on the table before being handed the squirming baby. Carefully freeing one hand, she opened the ledger to the page she needed. "Well, there's a few things," she said hesitantly, hoping she was going about this the right way. "I was going over the past accounts to get an idea of what I was doing and there are some things I don't understand. Over the last few weeks we seem to be spending more than we were before from the household account and I'm not sure where it's going."

Dernhild scrutinised the books, a frown pulling at her mouth, before she abruptly smiled. "Ahh, that will be the preparations for Hollantide."

"What's Hollantide?" Charlotte had never heard the term before.

"What's - dear me, you really aren't from around here, are you?" The older woman shook her head at her. "Hollantide is the harvest festival in a few weeks. Once the harvest is gathered and rents have been collected there is a large banquet up at the hall."

"Oh, I see," Charlotte said, then she abruptly shook her head. "No, I don't see - I did a full inventory of the stores and I couldn't see any extra supplies. It was much the same as the last time the inventory was done a few weeks ago, by you."

To her surprise, Dernhild threw back her head and laughed. "The Hollantide supplies are mostly ale in in cask barrels in the West storeroom, kept under lock and key. Maudig will have started stockpiling the ale ready for the festival."

Charlotte smiled. She hadn't checked the locked storeroom, having been told by Maudig that contained the linens and silverware for the hall that were only used on special occasions. "Sounds like it's going to be quite a party."

"Aye, it is always a night to remember," Dernhild agreed. One handed, she poured the tea for the both of them. "Was there more?" she asked, pushing the mug across the table.

"Yes." Charlotte turned to another page. "I know that the stores are stocked every few days on the market days, but if you see here, looking at the inventory I did, along with Maudig's tallies, there is something that didn't quite add up to what you had before." She pointed to the relevant columns in the book.

Dernhild looked, then turned back a page and frowned. She blinked, her frown deepening, and turned back to the first page, as if checking again.

"No, I'm sure you've added correctly," Charlotte said, guessing what she was thinking. "Since the last time the inventory was done by you there seems to be -"

"Almost a dozen less eggs arriving at the hall every other market day, the mid-week market by the looks of things," Dernhild interrupted, finishing her sentence for her. "And this is a standing pattern, one that it took fresh eyes to see."

"I asked Maudig and she said there's just never enough eggs in the mid-week market anymore. Is there anything different that happens on those days?" Charlotte asked.

"Aye," she replied, raising her eyebrows and looking up at Charlotte. "Those are the days that young Leofwyn brings the eggs up from the farm." She abruptly stood up, leaving her undrunk tea on the table. "You're a sharp one, that's for certain. Let's go investigate, shall we?"

* * *

Several days later, Eomer pushed open the door of his study upon returning from patrol to find Charlotte laying on her front among the furs covering the floor before the fire. Her feet were bare and her ankles crossed in the air behind her, allowing her dress to pool around her knees. There were several ledgers, quills and ink pots around her, indicating that she had been laying there for quite some time. At the moment, however, she had a book in her hand.

She looked up as he entered and smiled happily. "You're back." She made no move to rise from her relaxed position on the floor.

"Aye." He helped himself to the jug of cider on his desk and sat in one of the chairs in front of the fire. He was still in his armour, but after his talk with Eothain he wanted to speak to her as soon as possible. "I hear you've been busy."

Charlotte huffed a little and rolled her eyes, though her smile remained. "You could say that." She put the book down and propped herself up on her elbows to look up at him - she seemed completely unaware that such a position gave him a rather appealing view down the front of her dress as her bosom pressed against the material. "Have you heard what happened with Tredan?"

He nodded; he'd heard the whole saga from a reluctantly impressed Eothain when he'd first arrived.

"A little. I'd like the full story though," he said, relaxing into the chair as he looked down at her. He kept his eyes on her face and away from the tempting view of her neckline lest his thoughts stray.

Charlotte launched into the story of finding a discrepancy in the accounts and her investigation with Dernhild, who seemed to have become a fast friend to her.

It turned out that one of the boys from the town, an orphan who lived with his aunt and uncle, had been bullying one of the farmgirls and stealing eggs from her whenever she delivered to the hall. The boy's uncle had searched his room and found a small stash of coins. Eothain had questioned him and discovered that the boy had been reporting information to someone in Edoras (though he claimed he didn't know who the messages went to) for quite some time.

She finished by saying that Eothain and the boy's uncle had sent him to a remote farm to work off his debt from the stolen goods, somewhere he wouldn't be able to send and receive messages.

"_Someone_ in Edoras," Eomer repeated as she wound down her tale.

He had strong suspicion who this person receiving the messages might be. Over the past few years, the King's chief advisor had grown in power. He held no love for him or Theodred and often disagreed with them on matters of state. More and more, the King turned to him for counsel and not his own family. If there were anyone in Edoras who would think to place spies in Aldburg, it was Grima Wormtongue.

Charlotte tilted her head, watching him carefully. "Do you know who it is?" she asked with what seemed like deliberate innocence.

Eomer raised a brow, wondering anew how detailed her knowledge truly was. "Do you?" he questioned pointedly turn.

She shrugged and averted her eyes. "Even if I did, you know I couldn't tell you," she said in a strange voice as she picked at the furs beneath her, avoiding his gaze.

He rubbed a hand over the lower half of his face, knowing full well that the King would believe nothing without proof anyway.

He decided to change the subject. "What are you reading?" he asked wearily, reclining deeper in the chair and nodding to the book on the furs in front of her.

"It's a Gondorian history about Helm Hammerhand and the siege of Helm's Deep." She tilted the book to show him the leather-bound cover and he recognised the tome as one that had belonged to his father. "Fairly dry in places, quite a lot about different horses, riders and spears, but I'm finding it's helping me understand your culture better."

He relaxed further into his chair. "And why are you lying on the floor?" He had questioned this strange choice since entering the study as there was a perfectly good desk that she wasn't using, not to mention the seats in front of the fire.

"Oh, um …"

He was surprised to see a faint hint of red staining her cheeks and she avoided his eyes once again.

A slow smile tugged at his mouth as a sudden suspicion struck him. "Well, what is it?" he questioned again, hiding his grin.

She sighed gustily with the air of one who was simply giving in. "Alright, _fine_," she admitted in exasperation. "I absolutely _ache_ all over. Sitting down is particularly painful."

He chuckled, his suspicion confirmed. She was a novice to riding, it was no wonder she was laying on her stomach. "Your riding lessons are going well then?"

She looked less than convinced. "I'm better than I was but it's harder - and more painful - than I thought it was going to be."

He nodded. "Even the most experienced riders can get sore after a long day in the saddle," he told her sympathetically, knowing well the pain she was in. "The best cure is a hot bath."

Charlotte let out another loud sigh. "I would _kill_ for a bath right now," she said in a mournful tone.

Eomer's amusement piqued once more. "No need for violence," he said mildly, still trying to suppress a smile. "Hollis and Annwyn are filling the tub in my room for me as we speak."

She abruptly straightened, scrambling to sit upright with an almost absurd look of hope crossing her face. "They are?"

The smile he was trying to suppress broke into a full grin. "I've been reliably informed that there is a persistent smell of horse following me around after patrols," he said, trying and failing to be serious as he referred to their conversation in the stables some weeks ago.

"And … you wouldn't mind if I ...?" she trailed off and gazed up at him from her position on the floor with a look of absolute yearning that he found rather arousing.

"I'd say you've earned it," he told her, only to laugh as she jumped eagerly to her feet, almost spilling an inkwell as she did so. "I'd rather it wasn't completely cold when you got out though, I'll go in after you," he called after her as she dashed out of the room.

* * *

Charlotte practically groaned with bliss as she sunk into the piping hot water, relishing the warmth on her aching muscles. Her buttocks and thighs felt like someone had gone over them with a meat tenderiser after her riding lessons, while her back and shoulders were knotted from time spent hunched over doing the inventories and stock counting. More than that, she had a telltale cramping in her lower stomach that spoke of her period making an appearance any day now.

A hot bath felt _beyond_ heavenly at that moment.

The tub in the corner of Eomer's chambers was vast, almost decadent. It was made of copper, higher at one end and carrying intricate, knotted engravings around the rim. It was the first such thing she had seen in Middle Earth, having made do with the ewer and basin in her room, and to her it felt like the uttermost luxury.

She found herself smiling as she looked around Eomer's chambers. They were large and spacious, more of a suite than a single room. The area was lit by several candles and wide, merrily crackling fireplace that cast flickering light on the walls. There were intricate hangings on the walls, most depicting horses, and great furs on the flagstone floor surrounding the bed. There was a table big enough to seat four and an empty stand that she imagined must hold his armour and weaponry.

It was the bed that truly caught her attention though. It was huge, far too big for one person, and covered in furs. It was made of same dark red wood that adorned the hall, beautifully carved with horses at the posts and similar knot work found on the pillars across the head and footboard.

Charlotte dunked her head under the water, pushing her fingers slowly through her hair and reveling in the feeling of being fully clean for the first time in weeks. The soap Eomer had beside his bath seemed to have herbs, rosemary, sage and thyme, mixed in; it was a heady and masculine scent that she recognised as his whenever he frequented the hall.

She sighed, lingering and luxuriating in the hot water. She didn't want to get out, but Eomer would be getting in once she finished so she couldn't stay as long as she'd like - she wouldn't have dreamed of sharing bathwater back in Oxford, but wasn't going to quibble it here in Rohan.

She spent a few more seconds savouring the warmth before heaving herself up, the water cascading down her body. She wrung out her dripping hair, stepped out of the tub, and wrapped the rough towel around herself. She gave the copper tub another fond look, hoping she would get to use it again, before picking up her clothes. She dressed quickly, pulling her dress on over her damp skin and using the towel to squeeze the excess moisture from her hair as she headed to the door.

She found Eomer waiting for her in the corridor, leaning against the wall opposite with his arms crossed and still dressed in his armour.

He glanced up as she opened the door. His eyes travelled leisurely from the tips of her toes, up her body, across her heat flushed skin and then lingered on the ends of her tangled, dripping hair before meeting her eyes.

He smiled slowly at her - it was a seductive smile that spoke of wandering thoughts and her heart skipped a beat in her chest at the intensity of the look.

"Better?" he rumbled with a twitch of his brow.

"Much, thank you" she said with a smile of her own, still rubbing water from her hair. "I hope I get to use it again."

"I'm sure I could be persuaded," he told her, his voice warm and amused.

Acutely aware of the fact that they were all alone up here, she gave him an ironic curtsey by way of a thank you and slipped past him down the corridor. She glanced back at him when she got to the safety of her doorway. He still watched her, lingering with his hand on the door handle of his own chambers.

"Goodnight then," she called out quietly.

"Goodnight, min hlaefdige," he replied, inclining his head slightly at her, his voice deep and rumbling in the low light of the corridor.

Biting her lip, Charlotte slowly closed her bedroom door behind her. She leant her back against it and closed her eyes, taking a long, deep breath in an attempt to calm the suddenly wild beating of her heart.

* * *

**Big thank you to BlackAquoKat for betaing for me!**

**Every time you review Eomer takes his shirt off, just saying … **


	6. The Uruk-hai

**Chapter 6 - The Uruk-hai**

* * *

"_**Treow sceal on eorle, wisdom on were."**__  
_"_Loyalty belongs in a warrior, wisdom in a man."_

_Maxims II_

* * *

It was inevitable that Charlotte would fall off her horse.

And, of course, it happened in the middle of the morning when the training yard and the sparring grounds nearby were at their most full. Bryde was perched on a nearby fence to watch while Charlotte practiced her trotting around the yard, trying to get the hang of the rise and fall, when a loud noise startled everyone.

A wheel had broken on a cart as it went by the training yard towards the town, causing the cart to tilt. It crashed to the ground on one side, sending apples rolling over the road.

The sharp crack of the wheel and thudding of the apples took everyone by surprise and Charlotte jumped, accidently digging her heels into Raefen's side.

Raefen reared up and Charlotte went tumbling off over the horse's side, catching one of her feet in the stirrups and collapsing to the ground with a painful thud.

Within seconds several people crowded around her as she blinked in the dust. Different voices echoed in her ears, all of them asking over each other if she was alright. Her ankle was throbbing and she felt slightly bruised along her side, but beyond that she thought that little but her pride was damaged. She looked around in a dazed kind of way, vaguely aware of a panicked Bryde catching Raefen's reins and tying them to the fence.

"Make way!"

Charlotte heard Eomer's shout and turned just in time to see him vaulting the fence that separated the training yard from the sparring grounds, using one hand for leverage in order to reach her side.

The small crowd parted to let him through. He immediately knelt down beside her, a look of concern on his face. "Are you alright?" he asked intently, looking her up and down for injury.

"I - I think so," she said slowly, undeniably shaken by what had just happened.

He looked sternly up at the people still milling around them. "Go make yourselves useful and see to the cart," he ordered them briskly.

The crowd started to disperse, all aside from Bryde, who hovered with a stricken look on his young face.

Eomer turned his attention back to her and softened his voice once more. "Where does it hurt?"

Charlotte gestured downwards, surprised to find herself trembling after the fall. "M-my ankle."

Eomer shifted and carefully took her ankle in his hands. "May I?"

She nodded numbly, still dazed.

He carefully undid the laces and removed her boot, moving slowly so as not to hurt her further. His large hands dwarfed her foot as he examined her ankle. He turned it gently, noting when she winced at the movement. "It's not broken, just badly twisted," he told her, relief colouring his voice. "Do you think you can stand?"

Charlotte nodded and Eomer helped her to her feet. She took a shaky step forwards and nearly collapsed as her foot twinged sharply in pain, only his arm supporting her stopping her from falling to the ground once more.

He immediately bent down and scooped her up, carrying her bridal style in his arms.

"Come, let's take you to the healers." He started to head out of the training yard, through the crowds and back towards the town.

Taken aback by the fact that he was suddenly carrying her, Charlotte wrapped her arms around his neck for support and then turned to look over her shoulder. "Raefen -"

"Bryde's got her," Eomer told her without slowing his pace. He weaved through the people surrounding the cart and picking apples from the road.

There was a brief silence between them as he carried her through the gates and up the cobbled streets of Aldburg. Charlotte noticed several people looking at them, a few exchanging smiles at the sight of them, but no one approached or spoke to them.

She turned her attention to Eomer, who was carrying her with almost absurd ease.

He was wearing dusty breeches and a loose shirt that had seen better days. The shirt might once have been tan in colour, but was browning in places and had several fraying holes, only some of which had been repaired. His skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his long, golden hair was tangled around his shoulders. He had clearly been in the middle of a sparring match when she had fallen from her horse.

"You know, I think I might be done with riding," she said in a falsely cheerful voice, a poor attempt to make light of the situation as they approached the healer's house, where the door stood open.

She was only half joking; she was not sure if she wanted to continue her lessons after such a spectacular fall.

"Certainly not." Eomer gave her a stern look. "The moment your ankle is better you will be getting straight back on that horse."

She blinked at him, surprised by the harshness of his tone. "But -"

"No buts," he said firmly, cutting off all argument.

Feeling chastised by his words, Charlotte kept her arms around his neck and lowered her eyes as they entered the healer's house. Eomer ducked through the various bundles of dried herbs that hung from the wooden beams of the ceiling and put her down on one of the benches with consummate care, calling out to the healer as he did so.

She was familiar with the healer's house, which was tucked away into a corner of Aldburg. It was a low wooden cottage with a thatched roof supported by long roof beams that were carved into horses heads at the peak. The house was owned by an old couple, Godwin and Mildred.

Godwin was a wizened old man who had once been a rider before a fall in his youth had crippled him, now walking with a cane. No longer able to ride out, he had spent many months with the old healer as he recovered and eventually apprenticed under him. He had seen and dealt with many injuries in his time and, despite Charlotte's misgivings about quasi-medieval medicine, had a good reputation around Aldburg.

His wife, Mildred, was the town midwife and wise woman, mixing and dispensing herbal remedies. She was a friendly woman with a weathered face who always smelled of herbs and seemed to know everyone around Aldburg. Charlotte had discovered that she had also been a particular friend of Theodwyn, Eomer's mother, and had delivered both him and Eowyn.

She had been happy to help when Charlotte had approached her the previous week for something to alleviate menstrual cramps, already frustrated and miserable with the rags she had to use and cursing Saruman for having bought her here without a supply of sanitary products. Mildred had brewed a tea of fennel, ginger and dandelion which, while tasting frankly disgusting, had helped enormously. Charlotte had sat with her and listened to stories of Eomer's escapades as a boy with a small smile on her face as she drunk her tea, feeling immeasurably better by the time she left the small cottage with a package of herbs to make more of the tea herself.

Eomer must have noticed how quiet she'd become after his scolding as they waited for Godwin to join them.

"Charlotte."

She ignored him, looking pointedly at one of the bundles of herbs drying over the fire. Maybe it was childish of her, but she was shaken by the fall and had been taken aback by the stern way he had spoken to her.

Eomer sighed and briefly took her chin between his finger and thumb, turning her gaze to his. "Everyone falls, Charlotte. I myself have been thrown numerous times." His tone grew gentler, with none of the sternness that had been in his face before as he lowered his hand, his fingers grazing along her jaw. "Trust me when I say the best thing to do is to get straight back into the saddle."

She bit her lip uncertainty.

When she didn't reply he crouched down to her level, putting them eye to eye. "You know, you don't strike me as the kind of person to give up at the first sign of hardship," he said, an obvious challenge in his voice. "Where is the woman who faced down a Marshal of the Riddermark while bound and told him he was naught but a story? The woman who took over the books of Aldburg, finding mistakes and new ways to do things?"

Stepping up to the gauntlet he'd just thrown down, Charlotte took a deep breath and nodded once at him with determination.

Eomer smiled, looking proud at her. "There you go."

* * *

The next day Eomer went to find Charlotte in the hall with a book in his hand from his own chambers that he thought she would enjoy. Maudig had helped set her up in a small corner of the hall with her tightly bandaged foot resting on a low stool. She had the ledgers scattered around her and a half drunk cup of tea at her elbow.

There was also a small bouquet of crushed, wilted wild flowers, probably the last to be had before summer faded, sitting sad and drooping in an earthenware vase beside her.

"I see that mine is not the first offering." He nodded towards the flowers as he handed her the book and sat down opposite her, fully dressed in his armour. "As your protector, do I need to speak to young Bryde about his intentions?"

"Oh stop it, he is only a boy," Charlotte retorted with a smile, recognising the teasing in his stern tone. She looked at the fading flowers that his squire had presented to her earlier that morning, clutched in a sweaty fist, and sighed. "Poor thing. I think he feels guilty that I fell."

Eomer nodded and decided to say nothing of the fact that the lad was likely besotted with the fair stranger in their midst. "He came to apologise to me this morning for not taking better care of you."

"It's not his fault," Charlotte said quickly, looking worried that he might have told Bryde off.

"I know." He'd seen exactly what had happened yesterday, how both she and Raefen had spooked at the noise of the cart. Nevertheless, Bryde had come up to him with a stammering apology, no doubt because he had told the lad to watch over Charlotte and keep her safe, particularly when he was away.

He nodded down to her ankle, which was tightly wrapped in a bandage and herbal compress, courtesy of Godwin. "How do you feel?"

She wiggled her toes. "It's better than yesterday. Godwin came by this morning and said I should be able to ride again in the next few days."

Eomer knew that, he had sent the healer up himself.

"Maudig said you looked after Raefen this morning. Thank you for doing that, I know you must have been busy with other things." She smiled gratefully at him.

"I'm not so fine and grand that I can't tend to a horse." Truthfully he enjoyed time spent in the stables. There were times when the burden of being a Marshal sat heavily on his shoulders.

"Bryde will do her for the next few days though." He came to the point of why he had sought her out. "I came to say goodbye."

Charlotte blinked at him, her face falling. "Goodbye?"

"I'm leaving for a patrol." He had to head out to the furthest borders of the Riddermark to both patrol and bring supplies to the herdsmen. "I expect we'll be gone nearly a week."

"Oh."

She looked almost downcast to hear this - not for the first time, he wondered if this was how his riders felt when they left their sweethearts or wives behind.

He crooked a finger under her chin, raising her grey eyes to his. "I expect to return to find you back in the saddle," he said pointedly.

She nodded and smiled up at him, a hint of sadness still in her bearing.

His fingers moved from her chin to her cheek, the back of his knuckles lingering there for just a moment. "Farewell then, Charlotte."

* * *

Night had faded into pitch blackness outside.

It had been the midweek market that day and so Charlotte was sitting behind Eomer's desk in the study, pouring over books as she updated the ledger and inventory.

She had commissioned some women in the town to make numerous baskets of various sizes for the new storage system she had implemented. Things were stored in batches of either ten, twenty, fifty or one hundred depending on the size or amount of a product to make counting and keeping track of usage easier and more accurate. It looked like it was going to work reasonably well, but she now had to write new pages in the ledgers and inventories to fit the new system.

She paused and rubbed her eyes, still not used to working by candle light. The fire was starting to die down and she was nearly ready to turn in for the night.

The distant sound of horns echoed over the wind and Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief.

The riders, and therefore Eomer, had finally returned, over a day later than expected. It was the first time they had been late since she had first arrived and she had spent much of the day fretting, going out onto the terrace to look out over the plains to see if she could see any sign of them despite Maudig telling her that they would not arrive any quicker for her looking.

Knowing that she still had several minutes before they reached the courtyard and hall, she decided to finish the column she was working on before going down.

Noises drifted up from downstairs - not the usual merriment or laughter, but rather hurried movements and loudly called demands.

She jerked her head up and listened for a moment, then quickly put the quill back in the ink pot and hastened out of the study, pleased to feel nary a twinge from the ankle she'd injured the week before.

The hall bustled with people, many of the armoured riders sporting injuries. She saw Aldhelm nursing a bloodied nose with Devan beside him, holding his bleeding arm at an awkward angle. Maudig was filling a cauldron over the central hearth and calling for rags, yarrow, and comfrey.

There was no sign of Eomer, she realised with growing panic as she looked quickly around.

She saw Eothain getting to his feet, having been bent over a rider who had a gash across his forehead. "Eothain," she called as she hastened over to him. "What happened?"

"There was a skirmish on the Eastern plains," Eothain reported. He looked uninjured himself even though he was splattered in what she recognised as black orc blood.

Though he still sometimes gave her wary looks, particularly when she was in Eomer's company she'd noticed, Eothain had warmed ever so slightly to her since she had made a friend of his wife.

"Where's Eomer?" She glanced around the hall again lest she had missed him in the confusion.

"He is speaking to families down in the town," Eothain told her heavily.

That did not bode well, but she couldn't help a small rush of relief to hear that Eomer was alright.

She somberly nodded her understanding and bit her lip. "What can I do to help?" she offered.

"These injuries are not serious, they mostly need cleaning and bandaging," he told her, glancing around at the men in the hall. "The men who truly need it are already with the healers. Maudig is boiling water, you can go and get clean cloths for rags and start with whoever is closest."

Charlotte nodded again and dashed to one of the storerooms on the ground floor, knowing she would find plenty of linen there. She grabbed a few plain cotton sheets and returned to the hall. The water, mixed with yarrow and comfrey, was just beginning to boil. She used one of the clean knives from the hall to slice the sheets into rags and set them to boil in the herb-filled water.

The next half hour or so was filled with tending to various wounds. She cleaned and bandaged Devan's arm and tended to a rider called Halford who had a rather nasty head wound.

She had just sent him back to the rider's barracks to rest with instructions to the other riders that he should be woken every few hours and taken to the healer if he was sick, lest he had a concussion, when Eomer appeared in the doorway of the hall and caught her eye.

"Eomer," she breathed, taking in his dirty and bloodied appearance as she quickly approached him.

He was still in his armour and carrying his horsehair helm, but it was his face that caught her attention. He looked like he had been smashed in the side of the head, sporting a gash above his puffy right eye, a bruised cheekbone and a split lip that he had carelessly wiped the blood from, spreading it further.

"Are you alright?" Her eyes darted over him - she noticed he had one hand resting on his flank, indicating further injury to his torso.

His eyes travelled over the hall and, seeing everything was well in hand, he simply jerked his head towards the stairs in response. "Come," he commanded, ignoring her question and heading for the stairs.

"Wait." She dashed to the central hearth, grabbed a large bowl and ladled some of the boiling water and rags into it. She had a strong suspicion she would need them. He did not protest this, as she had half expected he would, but merely picked up a candle and jerked his head towards the stairs once more.

Carrying the bowl carefully, she followed Eomer up the stairs and down the corridor. He moved slower than usual, as if there was something in his side that pained him. She lingered in the doorway as he pushed open the door to his chambers and went inside.

"Come in." He waved her inside, only to wince faintly at the movement.

Charlotte did so, placing the steaming bowl on the table and then closing the door behind her. The room was dark, lit only by the candle he held, which flickered over his injured face.

She took one of the tapers and lit it from his candle before going around the room to light the others, finishing with the fire which Maudig had built up to be lit on his arrival.

"You said before that you had skill dealing with minor injuries." He stood in the middle of the room with one bloodied hand still resting on his flank, just above the bottom of his breastplate.

She blew out the taper and put it down. "You're hurt," she said with a faint quaver in her voice; it was not a question.

Eomer nodded in a single, sharp movement. "The healers are busy. I have no wish to bother them with a trifle such as this." He gestured for her to come closer. "Help me with my armour."

She stepped right in front of him so that she could examine the armour. It seemed to be fastened with a series of buckles at the side and shoulders. She fumbled with one set, the side he was injured on, having to go on her tiptoes to do so, while he did the other side. She pulled the breastplate free, staggering a little under its unexpected weight.

He wore heavy chainmail beneath the breastplate, which was much harder to remove. She heard Eomer hiss in pain as they lifted it over his head with difficulty, both due to its weight and how much taller he was than her, and revealed his bloodied tunic beneath. They simply dropped the weighty chainmail to the floor when they were done, despite the fact that she knew he normally cleaned and oiled his armour with the uttermost care.

He placed a hand over his side again, breathing deeply and closing his eyes.

"What happened?" She hesitantly started to work on the ties at the top of his tunic as he caught his breath; it felt like an oddly intimate thing to do.

"One of them got a lucky shot in as I took him down, a spear driven up and under the breastplate."

He grasped the back of his tunic to pull it up and off, only to wince again, the movement faltering. She immediately moved to help him pull it over his head, her fingers just brushing his stomach. The tanned golden skin of his chest was revealed as the tunic came off, marred by a small gash surrounded by dried blood and an absolutely livid bruise on his flank, one that was at least the length of her hand.

Charlotte caught her breath at the sight and size of the bruise - it appeared that only his chainmail had stopped him from being run through by the spear, gored like an animal. His mail and tunic had been intact, so it was likely that the bruise and small gash had been caused by the pressure of the spear driving the mail into him rather than the actual point. She crouched down to take a closer look, lightly touching the area around the bruise with her fingertips.

Even in his injured state, she couldn't help but notice the breadth of his shoulders and the heavy, well defined muscles of his torso, the physique of a consummate warrior. It was dotted with several scars, some larger than others, and scattered with a smattering of golden hair on his chest that tapered down into a trail that vanished into his breeches.

She forced herself to focus on the wound. "The cut itself doesn't look too deep, I don't think you need stitches." She frowned deeply at the lucky escape he seemed to have had. "Though from the size of the bruise I'd say you've probably bruised your kidney or something."

Eomer exhaled a breath and shook his head. He raised his arm and twisted to look down at the bruise. "It's a minor injury. I'd thought from the pain that it must be bleeding badly."

He reached for one of the rags in the water, wrung it out and pressed it to the wound, breathing in sharply as he did so.

She shot him an incredulous look from where she knelt on the floor in front of him. She took the rag and slapped his hand away so that she could clean it herself since he was clearly pressing too hard.

"Just because an injury isn't life threatening doesn't mean it's minor. You could be bleeding internally for all I know." She felt rather out of her depth here as she dabbed carefully at the injury with the rag she'd taken from him, wiping away the dried blood. "How do your ribs feel? Any trouble breathing?"

"I'm fine," he said dismissively, shaking his head again - then promptly reached out and gripped the bedpost for support with white knuckles after the movement.

She saw a slightly glazed look in his eye and wondered if he was concussed from his head injury or simply feeling the pain more now that he wasn't in a dangerous environment.

"You are _not_ fine, sit down," she ordered in a worried voice.

He ignored her, swaying dizzily on his feet and holding tightly on to the bedpost.

She stood up and carefully pushed his shoulders down so that he sat at the edge of the bed and she could look at his face. She used her fingers to gently tilt his chin towards the meagre light of the candles.

He met her eyes silently as she did so, blinking. The glassy look faded as his eyes focused on her face.

She sighed at his injuries and went to get a clean rag.

Carefully cupping his uninjured cheek in her hand, she dabbed gently at the gash above his eye and moved lower to wipe the dried blood from his lip and beard.

"How is your ankle?" He sounded less dazed now.

"Fine," she said honestly. She had returned to riding Raefen three days ago, hesitantly at first but with growing confidence. Eomer hissed as she dabbed at the cut on his lip. "What happened here?" She kept her voice soft.

"I was unseated from Firefoot after I was caught with the spear," he answered, his eyes intent on her face as she tended to him. His gaze made her aware of just how close they were while he sat half naked on the bed and she stood between his legs. "I ended up fighting one of the beasts on the ground. It slammed me with a shield as I drove my sword through it."

There was a brief silence as her fingers moved carefully over his skin, one hand still gently cupping his cheek as she used the rag to clean his injuries.

Eomer sighed and looked down. "It was strange though," he said with a deep frown. "These orcs were unlike any I'd ever seen, great fell creatures. They seemed … bigger, stronger … _smarter_, even."

Charlotte's breath caught in her throat. Her hand froze, the rag falling from her suddenly nerveless fingers. "The Uruk-hai," she breathed without thinking.

Eomer's hand shot up and grabbed her wrist. "You know of them?"

She paused, then swallowed carefully, wondering how much she could tell him. "Saruman bred them for the war." This information couldn't do much damage to the story.

He exhaled a breath and released her wrist. "Then we haven't seen the last of them," He rubbed his hand over the lower half of his face. "I need to ride to Edoras and tell the King. I'll leave straight after the funerals."

"Funerals?" she questioned quietly. She recalled that Eothain said Eomer had spoken to families in the town.

There was a brief silence. "Alas, we lost three riders today, and four horses," he said in a sad, weary tone.

She looked in his face, taking in the deep lines around his mouth and the creases on his brow. His shoulders were not set as proudly as usual, rather he was slumped, and his eyes were downcast.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly from where she stood in front of him, not knowing how to comfort him.

Hesitantly, she raised a hand to brush some of his long, tangled golden hair off one of his bare shoulders. "Eomer, I'm so sorry."

He frowned at her. "It's not your doing, you have nothing to apologise for."

"No, I meant ... In my world we say I'm sorry to mean that I sympathise with your pain," she explained, her hand lingering on his shoulder which was chilled after having been out on patrol.

He gave a slow nod of understanding, gazing up at her. "A strange custom."

"Perhaps." She can see how the Rohirrim, who were honest and straightforward people, might find it unusual.

She made to go and collect another rag to use on his injuries, having dropped the one she was using on the floor. He stopped her with his bloodied hand reaching out grasp her own, more gently this time, entwining their fingers.

"Charlotte." His voice grew husky as he held her in place before him. "I … I know Gandalf said you must keep your knowledge to yourself, but if there is anything that you feel you _can_ tell me, I would be grateful."

"I …" she said, and then trailed off as she realised what he was asking.

He wanted her to use her knowledge to help Rohan.

For the first time, she considered how _hard_ it was going to be to sit on the sidelines, behind the stone walls of Aldburg, in this conflict when people that she knew and cared for could be harmed, when a country she was coming to love was driven to the very brink of war and destruction.

So many were going to die in the wars to come, Eomer's family among them.

Charlotte purposefully slipped free of his hand and went to get another clean rag as a way to avoid his searching eyes. She took her time wringing water from the cloth while she thought of what to say.

She returned to him and tilted his chin once more, carefully pressing the material to the cut on his head again, which was still bleeding sluggishly.

"I will tell you one thing." She didn't know if this would help but she felt that he deserved a truthful answer of some kind. "... Things are going to get much worse before they even start to get better."

"But things _will_ get better," he breathed, his gaze searching and intent on her face.

She opened her mouth but the words stuck in her throat as she dwelt on the fact that in a few short months Eomer would have lost his uncle and cousin, and would rule in Edoras as the King of Rohan.

He would even marry a princess once the war was won, Lothiriel of Gonder, and have a son called Elfwine.

Eomer Eadig, _blessed_, they would call him, since the man on the bed before her would lead his people into a golden age.

"Yes," she said eventually, her voice rather choked as she told the truth. "Yes … things will get better."

* * *

**Big thank you to BlackAquoKat for betaing!**

**And thank you all for your lovely reviews as well - one or two of you have commented on the similarity to Outlander and I confess, it was watching the first few episodes that inspired me to get writing with this re-write in the first place!**

**It is the hoildays for me and I am currently up in the Lake District. Going to try my hand at some horse riding of my own, having not done any for over 10 years - let's hope I don't fall too!**

**Leave a review, my darlings :)**


	7. The plains of Rohan

**Chapter 7 - The plains of Rohan**

* * *

"_**Wes þu a giedda wis, wær wið willan, worda hyrde."  
**_"_Be ever wise in speech, watchful against desire; guard your words."_

_Precepts_

* * *

Eomer stormed from the Golden Hall of Meduseld with one hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

He'd had an audience with Theoden King - or rather, he'd had an audience with Grima Wormtongue while Theoden had sat silently on the throne. His description of the orcs - the Uruk-hai, as Charlotte had called them - had been dismissed as him _seeing things_ in the heat of battle, as had his warning that Saruman was not to be trusted.

The only time the King had even stirred was when Eomer mentioned what Gandalf had told him of his imprisonment in Isengard. Theoden had leaned towards Grima, muttering angrily in his ear. The advisor then said that Gandalf had taken Shadowfax, Lord of the Mereas, and absconded with him; it appeared that even mentioning the Wizard's name would prompt the King to anger.

The most worrying part of the audience was Wormtongue informing him that a new law had been passed: all strangers now had to be presented to the King before being given leave to travel through the Riddermark.

Grima had looked at him through his hooded eyes from where he sat beside the throne and asked Eomer if he knew of any such strangers in the land.

Eomer boldly met his gaze and told him no. His justification for this partial untruth was that Charlotte had been in Rohan for some weeks now. She was no longer a stranger in his eyes.

He had a deep suspicion that Saruman was using Grima Wormtongue as his eyes in Rohan to look for Charlotte, and it made his fingers instinctively grip his sword hilt as he left the hall. There's nothing he could do without proof.

He paused on the wide stone terrace, taking a deep breath of air to clear his mind as he looked out over Edoras and the plains beyond. He exhaled gustily and slowly released his sword hilt a finger at a time. Hama, the doorwarden, watched him carefully from his post.

"Do not fear, Hama." Eomer noticed the other man's scrutiny and guessed at the cause. "I have no intention of breaking the peace in the hall."

The doorwarden nodded at him, but did not reply.

Several hours later saw Eomer dining with Eowyn in her ladies' solar, one of the few places in Edoras where they were unlikely to be overheard.

He pushed his empty plate away and picked up his still full tankard of ale. "Tell me truthfully now, how is uncle?"

He couldn't help but notice that the King had looked tired and more frail than usual, shockingly so. His eyes had been clouded and unfocused and his skin greying with age. The King was not a young man, but had always appeared strong and hale as he ruled over the Riddermark.

Eowyn was clearly troubled by the question. "He seems to have been deteriorating over the past weeks," she said in a low voice. "He has not gone out riding for many days now and seems to grow weaker every day. He remains in the hall with that ... _snake_ whispering in his ear."

Eomer clenched his jaw. He had not been impressed by the way the advisor had lingered in the shadow of the King's throne, elevated above others. "Grima has grown in power," he observed coolly, his tone ringing with palpable dislike.

His sister looked at him intently, no doubt picking up on the tension in his voice. "He has the ear of the King and friends at court. If you break the peace to dispose of him, those friends will see that you answer for it."

"I want to wring his scrawny neck," he admitted in a growling voice. It was difficult to keep his anger in check when he thought of the gaunt, slimy man and the look in his pale eyes when he had asked about strangers in the land. "I'd have justification for it too, I have reason to believe that he has spies placed at Aldburg."

"You cannot confront him," Eowyn warned.

He swiftly got up and strode to the fireplace at her words, in no mood to hear of caution as he leaned against the mantle.

Grima was a threat that had to be dealt with. Not only was he poisoning the mind of the King and putting the safety of Rohan at risk by dismissing threats, he was also a danger to Charlotte if he was indeed working with the White Wizard.

Eowyn stood and followed him, grabbing his arm to turn him back towards her so that he was looking into her face. "I would not see you banished, brother. You must be careful."

"I _am_ careful," Eomer retorted with a deep frown.

"You are _not_," she shot back instantly. "You are reckless and hot headed."

He looked away and didn't reply, recognising the truth in her words.

With her hand on his cheek, she turned his face so that she could look into his eyes. "Keep the peace," she said in a soft, insistent voice. "Work with Theodred. Theoden loves you, you are his kin. We must turn him away from the shadows and back into the light."

"I hope that you are right," he said, seeing the wisdom in her words. He took the hand on his cheek and squeezed in in his own. He looked at his younger sister, noting the creases of worry that marred her normally smooth brow. "I worry for you here on your own." He recognized the signs of tiredness in her mien.

"You would worry more if I was not here to tend to uncle," Eowyn replied.

"Aye." He feared how much power Grima Wormtongue would have if Eowyn was not here.

Taking his arm, she led him back to the chair. "Come, sit and tell me the news from Aldburg," she said with the air of one changing the subject.

Eomer sat down heavily at the table and briefly ran his hand over the lower half of his face. "There is a new face in our hall, a visitor from distant lands," he admitted, knowing full well what his sister would have to say on this matter.

Sure enough, she frowned at him. "You know the law on strangers in the land."

"That law has only just passed, it holds no bearing on a stranger that arrived weeks ago and has since made a place for themselves in my hall," Eomer argued back.

"That excuse will not wash with Wormtongue," she cautioned. There was a brief pause between them. "Do you trust this man?" She still appeared concerned.

Eomer took his time swallowing his mouthful of ale. "Gandalf has vouched for her, and she has since proved herself to be trustworthy."

Eowyn's eyebrows rose slowly as she looked at him. "Her," she repeated. It was not a question.

"Aye, _her_," he admitted with the smallest of smiles, wondering what Eowyn would think. He did not believe he had ever spoken of a woman to his sister before. He'd never considered marriage and the few dalliances he'd had in previous years were not exactly suitable for a maiden's ears.

There was a pause as Eowyn refilled both her wine goblet and his tankard from the earthenware jugs on the table. She sat back in her chair, goblet in hand as she tilted her head at him. "Tell me of her," she requested, her voice carefully neutral.

"Her name is Charlotte." He watched the way Eowyn's brow creased at the unusual name. "She is … foreign and strange, undoubtedly so. But she has kindness and courage ... The worst riding seat I've ever seen but an almost stubborn determination to improve, even after having been thrown ..." He paused, thinking of the way she had looked when he had found her lying relaxed on the floor of his study, ankles crossed behind her and a book in her hands. "And she is clever, so very clever."

Eowyn watched him with a rare smile pulling at the corners of her usually serene mouth. "Why brother, I do believe your head has been turned - and by a girl who cannot ride at that." She sounded amused by this. "Is she pretty?"

"Aye, very much so." He thought on the way her coppery hair would shine in the firelight, how her smile lit her whole face, how her silvery eyes would sparkle with laughter in the hall or shine with concern as she cupped his cheek and tended to his injuries.

"Then I am happy for you. It is good to have something joyful in our lives in these dark times," his sister said genuinely, her smile lingering. "I look forward to meeting her."

"Will you come for Hollentide?"

Her smile faded. "Nay, I am needed here," she said resolutely. "I believe Grima is looking for any excuse to take the books from me. I will not give him control over the household as well as the King's ear," She added with determination. "Perhaps you could bring her to Edoras."

"Nay, 'tis not safe for her." Eowyn looked at him questioningly and he shook his head. "I am sorry, I cannot say more."

She nodded slowly, though she could not possibly understand his reasoning. "Yule then," she said simply, a wistful note in her voice. "I have not spent Yule in our childhood home for some years."

Eomer smiled at this. "You could journey with me when I take the hearth-fire to Aldburg." He would be coming to Edoras to watch the hearth being kindled and to collect the flames to take back to Aldburg.

"I hope so ... I make no promises, however."

* * *

Eomer approached Aldburg shortly after night had fallen. He stopped and reigned in Firefoot as he gazed up at the town and the hall, illuminated by the numerous torches within and shining like a beacon in the dark valley. What caught his attention, however, was a single flame above the high awning of the hall that faced the mountains. His brow creased and he spurred Firefoot into movement once more.

Sometime later, having stabled Firefoot, he walked slowly down the corridor of the upper level of the hall, towards the set of double doors that lead to the balcony his father had constructed. One of the doors was ajar, a chilled breeze weaving its way down the corridor.

He stopped in the doorway and found Charlotte curled in one of the rusting chairs with her legs drawn up beneath her. She had several of the furs from her bed wrapped around her and the brazier at her feet lit. The firelight caught in her hair and her bare feet peeked from beneath the furs. Her fingers were wrapped around an empty earthenware mug as she gazed out at the valley, not having heard his approach.

There was something … wistful, mournful even, about her expression.

Following her gaze, he saw that the waxing moon gleamed on the snow touched mountains, silhouetted against the velvety blue, starry sky.

"I've not been out here for many years," he said quietly, breaking the silence and drawing her attention to his presence. She turned in surprise and smiled at him, clearly glad to see he had returned. "I'd forgotten how lovely it is."

Charlotte nodded, turning her eyes back to the mountains. "It is, it's ... _beautiful_," she agreed, a hint of yearning in her voice.

Eomer looked at her from his position in the doorway, furrowing his brow. "What is it?" he wanted to know, sensing that something was wrong.

She smiled, though it was somewhat wan compared to the warmth of her usual smiles. "Nothing," she said, shaking her head. She pulled her furs tighter around her and turned to face him properly. "How was Edoras?"

"Charlotte," he said sternly, aware she was trying to change the subject.

She was briefly silent, then sighed and lowered her eyes. "I have been in Rohan for thirty seven days now," she said in a somewhat sad voice, looking back towards the moon.

"Aye ..." He felt foolish for not having thought of this before. It was understandable; she had been thrown into another world and isolated from her loved ones. "You are missing your home."

"No."

He blinked at her in surprise.

She shook her head, frowning, seeming confused by the answer she had given. "I mean … Well _yes_, of _course_ I am, but that's not …" She trailed off and he realised that he had missed the mark with his previous assumption.

"What's the matter then?" He came to sit in the other wrought iron chair near her, looking at her intently.

She gave him an upset look at this insistent probing. "I don't wish to sound ungrateful for everything you have done for me," she said hesitantly, pulling her furs tighter around her.

"I am sure I will not think that," he reassured her.

She pressed her lips together, still looking worried; he reached forward and took one of her hands over where it rested over the furs, entwining their fingers. "Come, tell me what's wrong," he ordered in a quiet voice.

"It's just … I've been here well over a month and I've scarcely been beyond the walls of Aldburg." She gave another sigh and looked out towards the mountains once more. "It really is _so_ beautiful here - the plains, the mountains, the valley - and I feel …"

"Stifled," he finished for her. He squeezed her hand before he released it and leaned back in his chair.

He could well understand what she meant. He would have probably escaped for a swift ride over the plains long ago if he had been cooped up like she was - and yet she was in danger. Even now Wormtongue was searching for her.

"I apologise, it was not my intention to make you feel like a prisoner."

"You _haven't_," she assured him quickly; he got the impression that him making this precise assumption was the reason she hadn't wanted to tell him how she was feeling in the first place. "You've done so much for me, you've been so welcoming." She paused and gave him a small, almost shy look. "I've already come to think of this as a home."

Eomer nodded slowly as he gazed at her, immeasurable warmth spreading in his chest at her words. She had made Aldburg feel more homely than it had in years; he found it deeply satisfying to have someone waiting for him, someone always happy to see him, whenever he returned.

She truly was becoming the hlaefdige, the lady, here.

"How's your riding?" he asked suddenly, an idea entering his mind.

She smiled wryly. "Bryde says I'm not a total disgrace any more, I take that to mean I'm making steady progress," she said with a healthy dose of self-deprecation.

"Can you canter?" At least a basic proficiency in walking, trotting and cantering would be necessary for what he had in mind.

Charlotte nodded. "Just about. It's easier than trotting, I still can't quite get the rise and fall." A common difficulty, the rise and fall was where many young riders encountered problems.

"The autumn rents are collected next week from villages and farms within the East-mark. I want you to come with us, bring the ledgers," he told her. He wondered that he hadn't thought of the idea before; she would be safe enough, in the company of riders and wagons, and would be able to do the accounts as they travelled.

"What?" She sat up straight and looked at him earnestly.

"It would give you a chance to stretch your legs, really put your new riding skills to the test and to see some more of the country." He grinned at her. "Besides, you'd be doing me a favour. Doing the ledgers as we go along rather than trying to catch up upon returning would be far easier."

"Do you mean it?" Her eyes positively sparkling at the idea of this small adventure.

He nodded, more than a little amused at her sheer happiness and feeling rather proud at having been the source of it. "You'll need some warmer clothes, a cloak and sturdy boots too," he warned her, starting to think of the practicalities of her joining them on the journey.

An idea struck him and he stood up. "Come with me." He gestured towards the doors.

Leaving the furs behind her, Charlotte padded barefoot down the corridor after him as he led her to one of the unlocked storage rooms. She watched as he shifted several chests, eventually finding the one he had been looking for.

Inside was a swathe of dark, pine green fabric, a cloak lined and trimmed with rugged, grey wolf fur. It had been his mother's, a gift from his father from before he and Eowyn were born. He had vivid memories of his mother wearing it, standing out on the terrace with the cloak fluttering in the strong breeze from the mountains as she waited to greet his father from patrol. He picked it up and shook it out, sending the dried lavender that had been folded into it cascading to the floor.

"Here." He held it out to her.

"I … I shouldn't," she said instantly, no doubt guessing at the cloaks origins and shaking her head adamantly in response, even while she gazed at it.

"You should." Before she could argue he draped it around her shoulders, fastening the clasp and arranging it around her. The grey-hued fur was as soft and thick as he remembered beneath his fingers. He smoothed the material down, his hands lingering. The clasp at the throat was made of knotted silver and set with amber, perfectly matching her hair and eyes.

_It was as if she was meant to have it,_ he thought with some satisfaction when he finally stepped back to look at her. He gazed at her as she stood barefoot and tousled from the wind on the balcony in his mother's cloak, thinking that she had never looked lovelier to him than she did now.

"It suits you."

"It is beautiful, truly," she replied hesitantly, even while her fingers curiously explored the soft fur of the lining. "But I really shouldn't."

"You must." He smiled wryly at her. "It is considered rude to return a gift in the Riddermark, you know."

She wavered for a moment. Then her face broke into an almost mischievous smile. She spun slowly on the spot, making the cloak flow around her. She looked happy, girlish and almost absurdly alluring with her bare feet and bright curls. She grinned at him and wrapped the folds of the cloak around her.

"Well, if it's rude to refuse …"

* * *

Several days later they rode slowly out of the gates of Aldburg and headed past the fresh burial mounds towards the open plains of Rohan. It was a bright, cool autumn morning. The sun was shining from low in the sky, catching on the oranges, reds and golds of the changing trees. A gentle wind was rustling the long grass, sending ripples out across the plains like water, and whispering in the dry leaves.

Charlotte fought a grin as the fortified town was lost to the valley behind them and they turned onto the road; it was little more than a dusty track that ran North-South, yet was known in Rohan as the West Road for being in the Western side of the country. She truly liked living in Aldburg, all the more since she was now in charge of the books, but absolutely relished this chance to see more of Rohan and Middle Earth. She felt a curious sense of freedom and anticipation.

Raefen seemed to pick up on her happiness and was frisky this morning, occasionally speeding up into a brief trot for a few steps before settling back down to a walk.

She was riding slowly alongside Eomer and half a dozen other men, including Bryde. The normally taciturn teenager was also trying hard to suppress his excitement at joining the riders on this journey. They were going to be setting a slow place due to the two wagons they had with them; the wagons were largely empty aside from their supplies. They would be filled with money, produce or livestock given for the people as rents.

Once they were on the road Eomer jerked his head at Charlotte to join him on the grass at the side and signalled for the group to continue down the road. She guided Raefen to where Firefoot was taking the opportunity to crop the grass, wondering what he wanted.

"You're letting her go into a trot when she should be walking," he said instantly, and she realised she should have guessed that he would be scrutinising her riding. "Not only that, when she does trot you are bouncing all over the saddle."

"She's just excited," she said defensively as she patted Raefen, who had joined Firefoot munching the grass, on the neck.

"That's an excuse and you know it," he shot back - his voice was not cross, but it was firm and Charlotte got the impression that she was about to receive a riding lesson from him. Sure enough, "Come, show me your trot," he said, gesturing that she should take Raefen in a circle around him.

Aware of his scrutiny, she nudged Raefen gently with her heels. She was reluctant to go at first, enjoying her grassy snack, but moved after Charlotte shortened the reins and gave her a second, firmer nudge.

Once she was walking, Charlotte squeezed her thighs to take her into a trot in a wide circle around Eomer, doing her best to rise and fall with the movements as Bryde had taught her.

Eomer's face fell into a mixture of amusement and mild despair at the sight of her. "Well, you've got the basics and you certainly could be a lot worse, but it is still not as smooth as it should be," he said bluntly from where he sat astride Firefoot, not one to mince his words. "Heels down, keep your torso still and press your knees into the saddle."

She tried to do as he said, thinking that she had _already_ been doing those things, having been told repeatedly by Bryde, but he still wasn't satisfied.

"You're not in motion with the horse, you're sitting behind the movement. Can you feel that she doesn't want to go?"

She was aware of this, it just felt like Raefen's trots were too quick for her to rise and fall quickly enough to be ready for the next beat.

He dismounted from Firefoot, tied the reins so they wouldn't hang and, with a few words in Rohirric and a slap on the rump, sent the large horse trotting down the road to catch up with the riders and wagons.

To her surprise, he then swung up on to Raefen behind her with ridiculous ease, all while Raefen was still trotting.

"Here," he said, settling in behind her with his front pressed to her back, one hand coming forward to hold her knee in place against the saddle even firmer than she was already doing. "Lean forward slightly, keep your thighs still. Heels _down_, Charlotte."

"They _are_ down," she retorted, more than a little flustered by having him suddenly pressed against her and completely losing the rhythm she'd had.

"Stop, stop," he ordered, his commanding voice bringing Raefen instantly to a standstill. "Get the movement right before you trot. You're trying too hard, rising too far out of the saddle which means you're not down in time for the next beat."

Keeping the hand on her knee pressed into the saddle, his other hand came up to hold her waist and guide the movement. "It's less of a rise, more of a thrust with your hips - slowly now," he told her, guiding her so that she was pushing her hips forward, and then down, forward and down, still pressed against her the whole time while Raefen stood still and placid beneath them, taking the opportunity to munch another mouthful of grass.

It felt shockingly intimate and Charlotte was certain her face was flushing bright red, even as her heart thumped wildly. Eomer, however, seemed completely focused on the lesson, even as his hand shifted up her thigh ever so slightly, holding it still. "Thighs still, knee pressed in, heels down … And lift, down, lift, down," he said as she practiced the rise, both of them moving in unison.

"Again, slightly faster," he ordered and she couldn't help but take a shaky breath as her mind wandered dangerously and her stomach clenched. "Lift, down and lift, down, lift ... Ready?" he asked her, his voice right in her ear.

Hesitantly, she nodded.

"Squeeze with your thighs, take her into a trot over the plains," he told her, nodding his head in the direction he wanted her to go. She did so, twitching the reins so that Raefen was heading out into the vast, open plains. She was acutely aware of Eomer's hands, one firm on her thigh and the other on her waist, as she nudged Raefen from a walk and into a trot. "Lift, down, lift, down," he said as they moved, his voice helping her to keep her rhythm, thrusting forward with her hips.

Already it felt easier, smoother, as if she wasn't fighting the horse. She wasn't rising so high and so was ready for the next beat, flowing from one movement to another. "That's it, keep going," he said as his hand slid slowly from her waist and down to her hip, still guiding the movements.

The wind was blowing the strands of hair across her face as they trotted over the plains and a small laugh bubbled up and out of Charlotte as she truly started to get it right.

"Do you want to go faster?" Eomer asked her, his deep voice sounding downright seductive in her ear; she nodded in response. "Move back, sit up straight," he said, moving with her. Their shifting weight signaled the change in pace to Raefen and she sped up into a smooth canter.

After a long moment cantering over the plains, both of Eomer's hands shifted so that he was holding her hips in a tight grip. "Rise up, lean forward," he commanded huskily and she could feel his warm breath and the bristle of his beard on the sensitive skin behind her ear, making her heart pound and her stomach clench once more. "Loose the reins," he added as she did so, with him moving with her. Eomer said a word that she didn't know in Rohirric and suddenly Raefen started to _fly_.

They galloped across the golden plains, moving incredibly fast as the wind whipped around them. It was as if Raefen's feet didn't even touch the ground as she sped forwards. It was utterly exhilarating, all the more so from feeling Eomer pressed so tightly against her back. She laughed again, though the sound was caught up and whipped away on the wind.

Eomer spoke in Rohirric again and they started to slow down to a canter, then a trot once more. Another word and Raefen turned back towards the road, which they had been running diagonal to. Breathless, Charlotte turned in the saddle to grin elatedly at him as they slowed to a walk; he met her happiness with a smile of his own, his amber-green eyes shining in the morning light.

"We'll make a horsewoman out of you yet," he said warmly.

She laughed in response as they made their way back to the road to wait for the other riders and wagons.

* * *

They did not stop at any villages or farms that day, simply making their way along the West Road at a leisurely pace due to the wagons. The plan was to head to the furthest reaches of the East-Mark while the wagons were empty and then make their way back, filling them as they went along.

They stopped to make camp just as the sun started to touch the Western horizon, turning the sky flaming reds and oranges as it set.

Eomer heard Charlotte audibly groan as she dismounted from Raefen with no small amount of difficulty, her leg positively dragging across the horses back. She staggered as she landed and he recalled that she was probably still used to using a riding block to mount and dismount. She pulled the reins over the horse's head and then led Raefen over where the others were picketed and waiting to be rubbed down. Her movements were slow and stiff. This was the longest she had ever ridden and she was clearly aching after being in the saddle all day.

Even so, she rubbed Raefen down with affection and perseverance. By the time she had finished, long after the other riders, whose movements were quick and practiced, the fire had already been lit to prepare dinner. She came over and promptly collapsed in a heap by the fire on one of the leather squares of material that had been laid out to protect clothing from the damp ground.

Eomer grinned at her crumpled form, well remembering the feeling of being saddlesore. "Poor sweet, no hot baths out here," he said sympathetically, the endearment slipping out easily and naturally.

Her only response was a muffled groan, making him grin wider in amusement. He reached down and grasped her arm to haul her into a sitting position.

She blinked as he did so, slightly dazed. Her red hair was dishevelled from the wind and she looked tired from the ride.

He passed her a small flask of liquor, knowing that she could probably use the pain relief. "Here."

She surprised him further by taking a decent pull at the strong spirit, scarcely even flinching as she swallowed - he couldn't deny it, he was mildly impressed.

The spirit seemed to reinvigorate her and she perked up, helping with preparing the evening meal. It was quick and easy fare since they had their fresh supplies from Aldburg and before long the entire company was sitting around the fire, talking and laughing as the light faded completely and stars lit the night sky.

There were several conversations going on: Eomer and Devan, who were the most senior of the group, were discussing the route they would take through the East-Mark to visit the villages and herdsmen; Charlotte and Aldhelm appeared to be talking about his upcoming wedding to Annwyn; and Halford, Winfred and Halas, the younger of the riders, were teasing Bryde in Rohirric, asking if he would look for a sweetheart while they were visiting the villages and settlements.

The conversation flowed merrily, but eventually Charlotte's attention was caught by the increasingly bawdy discussion going on in Rohirric opposite her, no doubt intrigued by the red blush that was staining young Bryde's cheeks.

"What are they saying?" she asked Eomer, who was sat beside her.

Eomer listened for a moment and his lips twitched as he realised that their conversation had shifted.

"They are giving Bryde advice as to what to look for in a woman, describing what they believe is best," he replied, suppressing a smile as Winfred spoke swiftly in Rohirric and cupped the air in front of his chest to indicate a woman's breasts.

Charlotte laughed brightly, catching their attention - Winfred froze with his hands still in place as they all looked over.

"Our apologies, we forgot that there was a lady present," Halford said politely in Westron, looking shamefaced. He glanced warily at Eomer lest he be angry.

"Oh, don't stop on my account," she said, clearly amused. "I'm curious to know the standards of beauty in Rohan, no doubt it's different to my - I mean, to where I come from," she stumbled hesitantly at the end as she mentioned her home.

There was a brief pause, then Halas grinned at having been given permission to continue. "Well lady, I cannot speak for the other men, but I'd wish for a sweet backside to hold on to in the night," he said cheerfully, holding his hands out to indicate the size.

"Give me hair like the sunlight and eyes like the sky and I will be happy," Halford said, glancing at Eomer again and clearly not willing to risk saying anything too suggestive.

"Speaking as an old married man," a smiling Devan, who was married with several children, said in a wise voice, "Looks fade so choose a woman who is good and kind."

There was a slight hum and nods of agreement among the riders.

"What would you wish for, Aldhelm," Winfred asked, having recovered his composure.

"Annwyn," he replied instantly with unshakable loyalty and love. "She is perfection itself. There is no lady fairer, none that even come close." He suddenly realised that what he had said could have been seen as mildly insulting to the lady present and turned to her with wide eyes. "My lady, that is not to say that _you_ are not -"

Charlotte simply laughed again. "I would be offended on Annwyn's behalf if you did not think her the fairest of all," she said good-naturedly, not looking offended in the slightest as Aldhelm sighed in relief.

"What of you, my lord?" Halas asked Eomer in a sly voice, sending a sideways look in Charlotte's men had clearly picked up on the fact that his head had been well and truly turned by their foreign guest.

He noticed Charlotte turn to look at him curiously at the question as well.

He paused, thinking of his answer. "Mine will be a kind and clever lady who makes Aldburg feel like a home again," he replied, knowing that she had already done so.

He had never fully appreciated what his riders with wives and families left behind when they went on patrol but now, having her say farewell with her kind concern and welcome him back with a bright smile every time he returned, he thought he had a much better idea. "Devan is right to say that looks fade, but a pair of sparkling eyes will be beautiful even in old age."

He was aware of her watching him with her lips slightly parted.

"And you, my lady?" Halas went on to ask, making her start in surprise and look over at him; it was Eomer's turn to look at her, wondering what she would say. "We have spoken of what a man wants in his woman, but what does a woman want from a man?"

"I … well, I don't know," she said, looking thoughtful at the question. "I believe I probably would have said something very different a few weeks ago, probably something like being funny or having similar interests, but now …"

She trailed off and he wondered if _she_ had a sweetheart back in her world; he knew she did not have a husband, but she might have had a suitor.

She shrugged, an embarrassed smile playing around the corners of her mouth. "I'm afraid I don't know, or rather, I can't put it into words easily ... I suppose women simply want to feel loved, cherished."

The riders agreed nodded their agreement to this and conversations started to drift again. The night wore on and soon the fire started to burn down, bright orange sparks mingling with the stars above them. People started to seek their bedrolls and turn in for the night.

Charlotte stood and stretched languorously, clearly trying to sooth her no doubt still aching muscles. "Where is my bedroll?" she asked Eomer.

He had told her when they were getting ready not to worry about sorting one, just to pack her own clothing and items in the saddle bags.

"Follow me." He got to his feet and headed towards where the wagons stood a few yards away, with her trailing after him. He opened the flap at the back of the smaller wagon, where the supplies, ledgers and strong boxes were kept, and climbed in. He then turned and held the flap open with one hand while he extended the other out to her, helping her climb in the wagon as well.

Ducking his head so that he would not hit it on the roof of the wagon, he lead her the few steps to the far end where a small, low cot complete with blankets, furs and pillows waited for her, cornered off by a curtain for privacy. He proudly drew back the curtain and gestured towards the small sleeping area.

"What's this?" She sounded stunned; it was hard to see her in the darkness, the light from the fire only just penetrating the flaps, but he could make out her wide silvery eyes.

"You are a lady. You should not have to be sleeping on the cold, hard ground," he explained. He hoped she would be happy with the arrangement.

"I did last time," she reminded him, referring to her first night in Rohan where she had slept on a dirty saddle blanket with his cloak wrapped around her.

"That was different. You were a prisoner then." He smiled in the darkness.

He felt her hand on his arm, cold from the outside air.

"Thank you," she said with genuine gratitude.

"You are welcome." He instinctively took her chilled hands, briefly rubbing and then pressing them between his own to warm them.

There was a long pause, both of them standing in the dim light of the small wagon with her hands enclosed in his, his head stooped down so that it was much lower to hers.

He decided to ask the question he had wondered at during their conversation outside. "I never asked. Do you have a sweetheart waiting for you back in your world?"

He could just about see her smile in the darkness as she shook her head. "No, no sweetheart," she confirmed to his satisfaction.

"Good," he replied, squeezing her small hands slightly in his own much larger ones as his thumbs rubbed circles into the soft skin on the top of her hands.

"Good?" she answered with a faint quaver in her voice.

"Aye." He raised both of her hands in his to place a brief kiss on the back of first hand, then the other.

He released them before he was tempted to do more - and he was beyond tempted.

Raising his hand, he brushed the back of his fingers against the warm skin of her cheek. "Sleep well, min tannan," he added softly.

"Wait," she called after him in a whisper as he went to leave the wagon, reaching out to stop him.

He paused, one hand on the flap of the doorway.

"What does that mean? What did you just call me?"

He grinned at her in the darkness. "Perhaps I shall tell you in the morning."

* * *

**Big thank you to BlackAquoKat for betaing!**

**Leave a review, my lovelies!**


	8. The beacon of Halifirien

**Chapter 8 - The Beacon of Halifirien**

* * *

"_**Æghwilc ðing þe on þys andweardan life licað lænu sindon."  
**_"_Everything which is pleasing in this present life is on loan."_

_Metres of Boethius_

* * *

Charlotte slept far better than she expected, having anticipated a cold, ache-inducing night on the hard ground. The cot at the back of the wagon was small, roughly the size of a camp bed, but she found that it was warm and cosy with all of the blankets and furs Eomer had provided.

The sun hadn't even risen when she woke, but movement outside the wagon had roused her.

She had slept in her clothes and so she simply slipped on her boots, wrapped her new, fur lined cloak tightly around her and stepped, yawning, into the cold morning air.

Dawn hadn't yet broken, though the pink blush among the clouds to the east spoke of its imminent arrival. Mist lingered over the landscape, still, silent and ethereal in the pale, pre-dawn light

Charlotte stretched, interlocking her hands above her head. She arched her back until it clicked, shook out first one leg, and then the other to relieve the aches from riding yesterday.

Most of the camp was still asleep, with the riders wrapped tightly in their cloaks and bedrolls, but Devan and Eomer were already awake. Devan was rekindling the fire and setting a pot of water over it to boil, whilst Eomer appeared to be playing with Firefoot a few dozen yards away from the camp.

And they _were_ playing; it was a game of tag, she realised as she watched them.

He would tap Firefoot on the flank or side and then run away as the horse chased after him. Firefoot would then nudge Eomer with his nose once he caught him before pivoting and cantering away for Eomer to chase him once again as the game continued.

She smiled as she watched them, wrapping the dark green, fur-lined cloak that he had given her tighter around herself as she joined Devan at the fire. Within a few minutes Devan handed her a steaming mug of nettle tea that she cupped to warm her chilled hands. Eomer came over to join them, sitting down next to her as the breakfast was cooked up.

Before long the other riders awoke and the camp bustled with activity. The smell of cooking sausages, bacon and eggs mingled in the cool, fresh air.

Once they had all eaten, the horses were saddled, the wagons hitched up and they prepared to mount.

Charlotte briefly frowned as she looked from Raefen, to the stirrups, to the saddle. She had never mounted without the aid of a mounting block before.

No doubt reading her worry, Eomer appeared behind her with a small smile. Effortlessly, he lifted and settled her into the saddle. His hands lingered as they slid down her legs to help her feet into the stirrups.

Once again, Charlotte marveled at the beauty of her surroundings as they rode. The road ran parallel to the towering, craggy mountains and she occupied much of her time with gazing up at the lofty, snowy peaks, taking in the narrow gorges, ravines and glaciers that made up their vastness. Eomer told her the name of each of the peaks and wooded valleys they rode and, much to her delight, she even saw eagles soaring in lazy circles high above them.

They continued along the West Road, still heading for the furthest point first in order to make their way back with the increasingly full wagons. Charlotte found the pain of being saddlesore lessening as she grew more accustomed to the long rides.

Their journey continued for a further two days, and though they passed several villages they did not stop to collect rents.

It was late in the afternoon when they reached the Firien Wood, the southernmost point of Rohan, and they stopped to make camp by a small stream, resting early after the three day push to get there with the wagons.

Eomer came over to her just as she was about to dismount Raefen. He assisted her with his large hands wrapping around her waist, as had somehow become a routine for them over the last few days. Eomer seemed more than happy to help her both on and off the horse at every opportunity, a job that he entrusted to no one else.

"Look up there." Eomer pointed at the peak towering above the oak forest once her feet landed on solid ground.

Charlotte shaded her eyes and she squinted up. "What am I looking for?" She saw nothing but the forest, the snow-capped mountains and then blue sky beyond.

Eomer stepped behind her, taking her hand to move her finger to point in the precise direction he was looking. "There, do you see it?" he said almost in her ear as her gaze followed the direction he had indicated, his hand lingering on hers.

It was a slightly lower and flatter peak than the rest, jutting forwards from the rest of the mountain range and standing proudly in the midst of the trees above the oak wood. Squinting once more, she thought she could just make out a couple of small structures near the top on a high, flat plateau, as well as what appeared to be a winding, zig-zagging path up the side of the cliff-face.

"What is it?" she asked, unable to make sense of why there would be any dwellings in such an inhospitable place.

"That is Halifirien, the last of the warning beacons."

Charlotte's lips parted in a faint gasp as she gazed up at the beacon.

She had grown accustomed to living in Rohan, but seeing this piece of living history - of fantasy - before her, knowing that within a few short months the beacons would be lit and Rohan would ride to war in Gondor, only reinforced the fact that she was in Middle Earth, immersed in an inexorably unfolding story.

Eomer seemed unaware of how her mind started racing as they picketed the horses and started to set up the camp. Several of the men, Eomer included, ventured into the woods to hunt fresh game for dinner since they still had an hour or so before the sun set, leaving Bryde, Halas, and Charlotte to set up at the camp.

Charlotte stretched once she finished filling and hauling a large pot of water over to the fire, ready to set to boil once it had been lit. She felt stiff and grimy after three days on horseback. "Is there another stream or anything nearby?" She wanted to take the opportunity to wash but did not fancy doing so in the stream in full view of the camp.

"Aye, the stream is fed by a lake about a half mile or so that way," Bryde replied distractedly, not looking up from where he was striking a flint and steel, blowing on the small, dried pieces of tinder so that they could light the fire.

"I'll be back soon then."

She grabbed a few bits from the wagon before heading up the stream to the lake. The stream wound into the trees and she hesitated briefly, but continued, seeing how sparse the trees were right on the edge of the forest. Her perseverance was soon rewarded with a small, sparking lake. It was a beautiful sight; grey pebbles lined the shores that were surrounded by trees and sheltered by the high mountains above. The crystal clear water lapped gently at the stones, displaying the rocks and branches settled on the lake bottom.

A hand dipped in the water revealed that it was icy cold, no doubt fed by melting snows from the mountains, and quickly put the notion of a swim from her mind. Nevertheless, she was determined to get clean, even if that meant braving the frigid waters.

Feeling secure in the idea that she had complete privacy, she took off her furred cloak and folded it neatly on the stones. Her boots and tunic joined the pile and she knelt in just her leggings and bra (she had not grown used to the Rohirric breastband and still wore her own undergarments as much as possible) on the shores of the lake.

She washed her dusty, lank hair as best as she could using handfuls of the freezing water, lathering her hands with the soap she had squirrelled away from Aldburg and running them through it her hair. It wasn't done nearly to her satisfaction, but she was happier now that it felt marginally cleaner. She combed it through and left it drying in damp, heavy curls as she moved on to washing her arms and torso.

A faint, but distinct, rustling broke the silence.

She paused and looked up at the trees around her.

* * *

Eomer returned to the camp with the others, depositing a brace of pheasants ready to be plucked by the pot of water warming on the fire. The pheasants were fat from a summer of grazing on seeds and wild fruits, though the forest showed signs that autumn was well and truly upon them, russet reds and golds mingled heavily with the fading green leaves.

Disturbingly though, they had found wolf tracks not far from the camp - they would have to set a double watch tonight.

He blew on both his hands to warm them in the chilled, dusky air and looked around the camp. He frowned. "Where is Charlotte?" he asked Halas.

The younger rider's brow furrowed as he looked around as well from his position by the fire. "She's with the horses, isn't she?"

The horses were picketed and peacefully grazing; Eomer shook his head, still frowning deeply.

"She went to the lake," Bryde said from behind him and he turned to look at his young squire.

"Alone?" A low and dangerous note entered his voice - it was perilous to be alone so near the woods. Orcs and lawless men were known to use them for cover, to say nothing of the wild animals that made them their home.

"Aye," Bryde replied weakly, visibly swallowing and looking fearful. He had evidently realised he had made a grave error in letting her go.

Eomer strode to where Firefoot was picketed, not even bothering with a saddle as he swung himself onto the horse's back. The horse responded to his obvious anxiety and trumpeted a challenge, pawing at the ground.

"If there is a single hair on her head harmed, you will be lucky to escape a thrashing," he said to Bryde, his voice ringing in dire warning, then prompted Firefoot into a swift canter towards the direction of the lake, spurring him into a gallop as soon as they were clear of the camp.

His worst fears were confirmed: he heard a distinct howl followed by a scream up ahead as he entered the trees and cursed under his breath, urging Firefoot to go faster.

He broke into the clearing and saw three wolves skirting the lake shore, little over a hundred yards away from Charlotte and heading straight for her - shouting in Rohirric, he drew his sword and urged Firefoot forward towards her.

She was scrabbling back from the lakeshore as she screamed. The wolves were quickly bearing down on her. She picked up a heavy rock and hauled it in the direction of the wolves, striking one of them in the flank with stunning accuracy and sending it stumbling, but the other two still approached, the larger wolf leading the way.

Eomer cut in front of it and swung his sword in a brutal strike from astride Firefoot, laying open a deep wound in the flank of the larger beast, which then got caught by the horse's hooves.

He jumped to the ground in a single, fluid movement, knowing he would be at a disadvantage from the height Firefoot provided. He forcibly pushed Charlotte aside, sending her tumbling to the ground, and raised his sword just as the third, smaller beast jumped - he caught it right in the middle of its chest, his sword thrust deep, and it fell to the ground, instantly dead.

It was over in seconds - the two wounded beasts instantly gave up the chase, making for the cover of the forest, the one he had cut visibly bleeding and whimpering.

He pulled his blood-coated sword free from the wolf carcass and quickly looked around for further threats, his weapon poised.

Finding none, Eomer looked at Charlotte, sprawled back on her elbows on the grey pebbled stones, white faced and gasping for breath.

"Are you hurt?" he asked brusquely, his sword still in his hand and his fury simmering dangerously beneath the surface.

"N-no," she replied shakily. She made a hesitant move to get up but slipped on the damp stones, like a newborn filly trying to stand.

"Good." He reached down to haul her roughly to her feet, keeping a tight grip on her upper arm. He shook her slightly, towering over her as she positively trembled. "_Bema_, Charlotte, how could you be so foolish?" he demanded, his voice bursting out of him as a low growl.

Clearly dazed, she blinked up at him, her fawn-like eyes impossibly wide. "F-foolish?" she repeated confusedly.

"Aye, as to leave the camp," he said, feeling his temper rapidly fraying.

"I - I went for a wash, I needed -"

He tightened his grip on her bare arm, his sword still in his other hand, and shook her again, inadvertently bringing their bodies almost flush against each other. "What you _need_ is a good hiding," he snarled, scarcely able to believe that she had risked her life for a _bath_. The fear he had felt for her when he had seen the wolves made his anger spike.

A spark of indignation entered her wide, fearful eyes. "I - you wouldn't dare -"

"Do not _test_ me, Charlotte," he practically hissed at her, dragging her nearer so that her face was inches from his. "I am _furious_ right now."

"It's not like I got attacked on purpose," she cried, struggling a little against his iron grip. "I -"

"Could have died!" he interrupted loudly, shaking her again.

"Exactly!" she shouted back, shoving hard at his chest.

He automatically released her and she took a step back from him, then another.

"_Exactly_," she repeated, sounding for all the world like she was about to cry. "I could have died and you - _you're_ …"

She trailed off as she looked at him, evidently struggling to find the words.

For the first time since entering the clearing he became aware of what she was wearing - or rather, what she was _not_ wearing - and, unable to stop himself, his eyes drifted downwards.

Her tunic and cloak were in a pile on the shore. All that covered her torso was a strange, silken breastband of dark blue that cupped and pushed up her breasts with narrow straps over her slim shoulders, leaving the creamy white skin of her stomach and the curve of her waist exposed to his gaze. She was wearing her leggings, which were damp from where she had fallen, but her feet were bare and her hair was a dark, damp tangle of curls falling loose around her face.

He raised his gaze back to her face and she narrowed her eyes dangerously at him.

"Turn around," she ordered, still shaken and tearful.

"Charlotte -" he started to apologise for his wandering gaze, but she cut across him.

"I _said_," she interrupted, her eyes flinty and a hiss of her own entering her voice. "Turn around."

He complied, recognising that he needed a moment to both cool his anger and get his wandering thoughts under control after having seen her thus.

He could hear her dressing behind him and took the time to clean the rapidly cooling blood from his sword with a rag from his belt.

Hearing no further movement from behind him, he sheathed his sword and chanced a glance over his shoulder.

She had pulled her tunic on over her head, but left her cloak and shoes and simply sat down on the pebbled shore once more. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, her head buried in her knees, and her shoulders were shaking with quiet sobs.

Eomer sighed and picked up the cloak. He dropped it unceremoniously around her shoulders and went to stand several feet away, looking out at the calm, serene lake. "I understand that you're shaken by what happened, but leaving the camp was an utterly foolish thing to do," he told her. The recklessness of her actions needed to be addressed.

He heard her sniff. "We … we don't have wolves where I come from, not even in the same country," she said so quietly to her knees that he almost didn't catch the words. She raised her head, tears streaking her cheeks, and looked at him. "I've never even _seen_ one before and …" she took a deep, shuddering breath, "And you didn't exactly tell me they were here."

Eomer let out a long, deep sigh. "No, I did not," he allowed wearily. He should have been clearer on the dangers in Rohan considering that she was a stranger. He could not assume that she knew these things.

He lowered himself down onto the pebbles next to her, looking at the lake once more as he felt some of his anger drain away. "Every child in the Riddermark knows that there are wolves in the hills."

She audibly sniffed and wiped her hand inelegantly over her cheeks, clearly fighting a wave of fresh tears.

He sighed; he didn't like to see her so distressed. "Here," he said softly, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into him.

Charlotte instantly wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest as the sobs started anew. "I'm _sorry._" His armour muffled her voice.

He shook his head, though she could not see it, and smoothed his thumb over her shoulder. "It is I who is sorry. You made an honest, albeit foolhardy mistake. I shouldn't have spoken to you thus." With his free hand, he crooked her chin up so she could look at him, her face still bathed in tears. "Forgive me," he asked with genuine regret.

She let out a shaky breath and nodded her forgiveness. His hand moved from her chin to wipe her tears away, her cheek smooth as silk against the back of his knuckles, their faces close together.

"Thank you," she breathed, leaning forward to press her forehead to his and closing her eyes, their breath mingling.

He closed his eyes as well, leaning in to her as his hand cupped her cheek. They stayed like that for a long moment and Eomer felt the last, lingering part of his ire cool, extinguished by the feeling of her safe and well in his arms.

He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone and she shivered in response; somehow this prompted some fresh tears from her, no doubt lingering fear from the attack.

"I'm sorry," she breathed again, moving back from their intimate position and sniffling slightly, wiping her hand under her nose in an unladylike gesture.

"Hush, hush now, my sweet," he soothed her, still cupping her cheek and moving to press his lips to her forehead in a lingering, tender caress.

He drew back and looked at her; somehow, with wet, tangled hair, tear tracks and a red nose, she was still utterly beautiful to him.

"Come," he said softly, getting to his feet and extending a hand to her.

She allowed him to help her to her feet and then looked around with a bewildered expression for her shoes. He retrieved them for her and then wordlessly knelt to help her slip her small, delicate feet back into them.

He led her over to where Firefoot waited a few yards away. As had become their routine, he put his hands around her waist and lifted her easily onto the horse. He helped her settle on Firefoot's back since she wasn't accustomed to riding without a saddle, then paused.

"You're hurt," he said, spotting the blood blossoming red through the material of her tunic at her right elbow. He gently cupped her arm to take a look.

"It must have been when I fell back on the rocks." She twisted to look and helped him push the three-quarter length sleeve up to see the injury. It was a long, shallow graze on the underside of her arm, just above her elbow. It did not look serious, but there were bits of dirt in it and it was bleeding sluggishly. It would need to be cleaned and dressed.

"We'll deal with it back at the camp," he told her, then moved over to the wolf carcass lying still and silent on the pebbles a few yards away.

"What are you doing?" she asked with a frown as she held on to Firefoot's mane and watched while he heaved the carcass up and over his shoulder.

"Wolf pelts are valuable. I'm sure there will be someone in the next village who will appreciate it." He faintly raised an eyebrow at her. "Or did you think the furs on your bed simply grew on trees?"

She pulled a face as if to say that she hadn't really thought of it before, and the two of them made their way back to the camp with Eomer walking alongside the horse.

By now night had truly fallen and the riders were waiting for them back at the camp. Bryde in particular was wan-faced and agitated. He looked up sharply as they arrived and breathed a sigh of relief that was audible even from a distance - then his eyes widened as he saw what Eomer was carrying.

Eomer dumped the wolf carcass at the young lad's feet. "You can deal with that," he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Bryde swallowed and nodded wordlessly.

He helped Charlotte dismount from Firefoot, carefully lowering her to the ground. She looked over at Bryde as he led her over over to the wagon, stopping only to collect hot water from the boiling pot and a cloth. "Are you … punishing him?" she asked quietly, looking troubled.

"He should not have let you go," Eomer explained in an equally low voice. He held the flap of the wagon for her to enter. "Besides, his father is the tanner in Aldburg, he has the most experience of furs and pelts," he added once they were both inside, leaving the flap open to allow light from the fire to come through.

He guided her to sit on one of the chests that contained the ledgers and strong boxes, placing the bowl of water alongside her. Kneeling in front of her, he took her arm and carefully rolled up her bloodied sleeve. Charlotte watched him as he cleaned and bound her wound with consummate gentleness.

He sat back on his heels when he had finished. A brief silence fell between them.

"Are you angry with me still?" she eventually asked softly, her face in shadow.

"I was, but no longer," he replied honestly, the hot flare of his anger having long since burnt itself out. He got to his feet, picking up the bowl and cloth. "Are you hungry?"

She shook her head, glancing over to her small, fur covered cot in the back of the wagon. "Not really. I think I just want to go straight to bed," she said. She still sounded shaken by her ordeal.

He nodded his understanding and chucked her gently under the chin with the knuckle of his forefinger. "Get some rest then, min tannen," he ordered, then moved to leave the wagon.

"Eomer," she said as he reached the doorway, still perched on the chest; he looked back at her. "Thank you." Quiet gratitude laced the tone of her voice.

"You are welcome," he said, equally soft, then left the wagon, pulling the leather flap shut behind him for her privacy.

He approached the riders sitting around the fire preparing the meal and talking quietly among themselves. He briefly explained what had happened, then went to find Bryde. The lad had taken a torch from the fire and hauled the wolf carcass to the edge of the camp. He had already split it up the belly, ready for skinning.

He looked up at Eomer's approach and scrambled to his feet, his sleeves rolled up and both of his hands bloodied. "M'lord -" he started to say agitatedly, but was forestalled by the hand that Eomer held up to stop him.

"There is more than enough blame to go around," Eomer said. He didn't need to hear further apologies or explanations. "She should not have gone, you should not have let her go, and I should have been clearer on the dangers present here."

"But -"

"It's past," he said firmly, considering the matter closed. "We learn from our mistakes and we do not make them again." He clapped the young squire on the shoulder. "Do you understand?"

Bryde let out a deep, shaky breath. "Aye, m'lord," he said in a clearly relieved voice.

Eomer knelt down next to the carcass and jerked his chin to the knife that Bryde had left on the grass. "Here, lend me that knife, lad," he ordered, and together the skinned the pelt by the light of the torch in the growing darkness.

* * *

The first thing Charlotte noticed when she stepped out of the wagon the following morning was the carrion stink of the charnel house lingering around the camp. She wrinkled her nose as she headed towards the fire that had already been lit, her stomach grumbling since she had not eaten the night before.

She abruptly stopped in her tracks as she caught sight of the wolf pelt strung up tight between two trees and clapped a hand to her mouth, bile rising in her throat.

"M'lady?" Bryde said from behind her, startling her. It was the first time he had called her by the title.

She turned around and found him standing with a bowl full of porridge and an earthenware cup of nettle tea in his hands. He wore a distressed expression on his young face and had tired, bloodshot eyes. "I wanted to apologise -"

Charlotte cut him off by throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

To say that the normally taciturn teenager was surprised by this would be an understatement. The boy smelt of sweat, blood, and musk from working on the hide and she quickly released him. "Don't you dare apologise, it wasn't your fault in the slightest." She held him by the shoulders. "I don't want to hear of you blaming yourself, you understand?" she said sternly, catching and holding his eyes.

Bryde hesitated. Then he gave her a rare smile and held up the plate and cup for her to take.

"Thank you." She took the offerings from him and smiled in turn. "And it's Charlotte - none of this 'my lady' nonsense if we're going to be friends," she added as she took a sip of hot tea.

Bryde's face cracked into another small smile. "Friends," he agreed. He looked happier than she had ever seen him.

She nodded towards the strung up wolf pelt in an attempt to change the subject. "You seem to have a lot of skills." She still was not sure how she felt about seeing the beast that had attacked her yesterday skinned like that.

"M'lord Eomer helped," he explained, following her gaze to the pelt. "My father is the tanner in Aldburg, I learned at his knee. It's not something I enjoy though, which is why I want to be a rider," he added, returning to his customary favourite topic of conversation - riding and horses.

"I can see why." She continued eyeing the pelt as she sat down to eat her breakfast.

Several minutes later, Eomer arrived at the camp dressed in his tunic, jerkin, and breeches. He carried his armour, his hair dripping wet, and seemed to not even feel the cold of the chilly autumn morning. He had no doubt been washing off the same stink that clung to Bryde if he had been helping with the pelt.

Charlotte pointed her spoon at him as he approached. "Hypocrite," she said simply so she could alleviate the last of the tension lingering around the camp.

Eomer raised a questioning brow at her as he set his armour down beside her.

"You're allowed to go off and bathe but I'm not," she explained with a smile designed to coax one from him in turn.

It worked, his lips twitched beneath his beard. "You are perfectly entitled, even encouraged, to bathe, so long as you are properly escorted." His tone matched her playful one.

She raised an eyebrow right back at him. "And who is to be this escort?" She could feel the tone of the conversation shift into a new, more dangerous direction. "You?"

"If you wish," Eomer countered easily, then smiled somewhat slyly at her. "Unless you would prefer Bryde," he added, his eyes bright with humour.

She snorted a little at that. "And who is escorting _you_ for _your_ safety?"

"I am a skilled warrior and I am armed," he replied, drawing himself up in mock affrontation before abruptly turning serious. "Speaking of which …" He stooped to draw a small, sheathed knife from his boot. He handed it to her hilt first. "This is for you. I want you to keep it with you at all times."

She took the knife and examined it. The sheath was adorned with simple knotwork and she drew the blade to take a closer look. It was no longer than the length of her hand and the blade faintly curved down one edge. The pommel was of gold and the grip wrapped in dark, russet leather scored and well worn - clearly this was a blade that had been used often.

"You know how to use it?" Eomer asked.

She didn't, and so she raised her gaze with a deliberately self-deprecating smile. "Stick 'em with the pointy end?"

His mouth twitched again. "Essentially." He jerked his head towards the side of the camp. "Come."

He took her to the side of the camp and spent several long minutes showing her the correct grip, the thrusting and parrying movements, and places to either hurt or kill an attacker. She was doing fairly well with the different movements until she over extended her right arm and winced.

"Are you in pain?" Eomer asked with a frown.

"Just a bit stiff where I fell over, I think." She twisted to look down at her arm.

"Let me check those bandages." He stepped forward to take her hand so that he could push the sleeve up.

With the same gentleness he had shown yesterday, he pushed the material carefully up her arm to reveal the cloth wrapped around her elbow - then he abruptly froze, his grip on her hand increasing ever so slightly.

"What is it?"

In response, he wordlessly pushed the sleeve further above the bandage, revealing the skin of her upper arm that supported a series of faint bruises she hadn't noticed in the darkness the night before.

She frowned, wondering where they had come from.

She got her answer when he slowly, silently, laid his hand on her arm and matched each of his fingers one by one to the marks.

He raised his head to meet her gaze, a look of anguish and self-reproach clear in his eyes.

"Don't you dare say a word," she ordered. "You didn't mean to."

Eomer shook his head, grief wracking his expression. "If one of my men left such marks on a woman I would see them flogged," he told her, his voice quiet with misery.

"It was an accident," Charlotte insisted.

"Nevertheless, you have my truest, _deepest_ apologies," he said with the uttermost sincerity, holding her hand as if it was made of glass. "I hope you can forgive me."

"Forgiven," she said instantly. She meant it from the bottom of her heart.

Eomer raised her hand in both of his in response, pressing his lips firmly to her knuckles for a long moment as he cradled it.

Then he slowly released her and exhaled a deep, shaky breath. "I have a proposition for you," he said, his voice still not quite back to normal.

"What is it?"

"A peace offering, of sorts, after yesterday." His eyes darted briefly to her arm, now covered once more by the sleeve. "Bryde will need a day or so to dry the hide enough for transportation. In the meantime, how would you like to see one of the best views in Middle Earth?" He nodded his head pointedly behind her.

Turning, she saw that he was indicating the peak of Halifirien. "You mean …?" she said slowly, her eyes fixed to the far summit of the beacon.

"Aye."

Charlotte nodded instantly, eagerly, and his mouth pulled into the smallest hint of a smile.

"Saddle up," he ordered, and she dashed off to Raefen while he went to don his armour once more.

* * *

The rest of the riders elected to take a day of rest at the camp, and so only Eomer and Charlotte saddled up and headed into the Firien Wood. The day was bright and clear, though it had the cold bite of autumn and the high, wispy clouds spoke of the possibility of bad weather to come.

The sun was shining through the changing trees, casting dappled light onto the fallen leaves on the forest floor as the pair of them made their way through the forest path, Firefoot leading the way and Raefen trailing sedately behind.

Eomer was still in a somewhat melancholy mood, unable to believe that he had actually left _marks_ on Charlotte's skin, despite her easy forgiveness. He had been serious when he told her that men had been flogged for less; the law of the Riddermark was strict on such things, discipline could be administered to spouses or children, but should never leave bruises.

He had been assigned to protect her, and yet he had been the one to bring her to harm.

Charlotte, however, seemed determined to cheer him up. She spoke happily on various topics, leaning precariously from the saddle to pick blackberries from thickets that they passed. "Does anyone pick these?" she asked him curiously, a fair collection of them in a small scrap of cloth that she held in her hand.

"Nay, why would they?" he said in turn. People would not come this far afield simply to pick berries.

She frowned a little at that. "So they all just go to waste?" she said with a glance at the abundance of berries practically dripping from the thickets.

"The birds eat them." He shrugged his shoulders. "People pick the thickets near Aldburg, but they have no cause to go further afield."

She hummed at that, looking thoughtful as she popped a berry into her mouth.

It was around mid-morning that they forded the Mearing Stream, the cold melt water splashing around their legs. "We've just passed into Gondor," he informed her. The stream was the boundary between the two kingdoms.

"It's so quiet," she said, cocking an ear to listen.

She was not wrong. Aside from the bubbling of the stream and the faint rustle of the leaves stirring in the wind, the forest was almost unnaturally silent.

"Aye, people call this the Whispering Wood." He kept his own voice low. "The Mound of Elendil is in these woods. Even if they do not know it is there, people feel the power of it and lower their voices out of respect."

"The Mound of Elendil," she breathed, looking utterly intrigued at the prospect. "Can we see it?"

It was certainly not far out of their way,so Eomer agreed, nudging the horses in a slightly different direction. The trees grew taller, larger, older as they headed deeper into the forest. It was only about an hour's ride through the oaks until they reached the base of the Hill of Anwar.

They tied the horses on long reins at the base of the hill and then started the climb. If there ever was a path it had been long since lost to history. They picked their way up the steep slopes until they reached the grassy plateau at the top.

At the top was a raised mound, set with an ancient, but ornate stone door carved with the seven stars of Elendil and flanked with stone wings resembling those of a sea bird, heralding back to Elendil's arrival in the seven ships from Numenor.

It was long overgrown, but still there was a quiet, persevering dignity and power about the place.

Charlotte seemed fascinated; she cautiously approached the tomb, running her fingers over the carved stars.

"This is where Elendil was buried," Eomer told her. "Isildur chose this spot because it was once the centre of the kingdom of Gondor. His remains were eventually removed to Minas Tirith after Rohan was established, making this Gondor's Northern border, but the cairn remains."

A simply carved, flat stone had also been set into the ground several yards away from the entrance to the tomb. It had long since been covered by foliage, but Theoden had brought both him and Theodred here many years ago when Theodred had reached his manhood and Eomer had been just a lad, so he knew where to look.

He knelt on one knee to clear the overgrown grass and moss away and Charlotte came over to watch. The revealed stone contained only a simple carving of knotwork, but it was what it represented that was important.

"This is where the oaths of Cirion and Eorl were taken, pledging eternal friendship and aid between Rohan and Gondor, where Rohan became a kingdom in its own right." He raised his head to look down over the plains, where the faintly shining Mearing Stream divided the two provinces. "It is a place of kings."

Charlotte didn't reply.

He turned to glance at her and found her looking at him strangely - he had no way of knowing that the autumn sunlight was catching in his hair, making him look as if he was crowned with gold as he knelt by the stone and looked out over the kingdom.

"What is it?"

She shook her head, blinking as if a spell had been broken. "Nothing, I was just … thinking." Her faintly troubled expression lingered and he got the distinct impression that she was deliberately withholding her thoughts.

It was ever so slightly warmer in the sunlight out of the trees, so they decided to have lunch up on the hill. Eomer spread his dark green cloak on the ground for the two of them to sit on. Lunch was simple fare of bread and cheese that he had packed into the saddle bags, washed down with plain water from the skin, but it was augmented by the small cloth full of slightly battered blackberries picked that morning that Charlotte produced with a smile. The sweet juices stained both of their fingers as they enjoyed their repast in the sunshine.

It was quiet and peaceful up there on the hill with her. He didn't think he had felt this relaxed or content in months, possibly years. Eomer was tempted to lie back and enjoy a short nap in the sunshine while Charlotte further explored the mound, but they had to press on if they were to reach the beacon and return to their camp in good time. It was with some reluctance that they packed up the small picnic and retrieved the horses.

Not far from the mound, less than an hour's ride, they came to the base of Halifirien where the winding path up to the beacon started. At the base of the mound rested a small cluster of buildings. There was a pair of Gondorian men stationed there; they automatically reached or their weapons at the sight of strangers, but Eomer was quickly hailed as a friend due to his obvious Rohirric colouring and armour.

He did not recognise either of the men at the outpost from the last time he had been there, but that was unsurprising since the postings changed every few months to allow the men to spend time with their families.

They were all introduced to each other, with Eomer introducing Charlotte as a lady of Rohan. The men explained that there were four of them at the post, that they did stints of twelve hour shifts up on the beacon in rotating pairs.

Eomer said that he wanted to show her the beacon and the men were happy to allow it; they took their horses to the small stable, the path being too steep for them, and headed for the mountain.

They climbed for nearly an hour, steadily ascending, when Charlotte, who had been lagging behind, stopped and put her hands on her knees. "This is punishment, isn't it?" she complained, wheezing faintly. "For leaving the camp last night."

Eomer chuckled. He backtracked a few steps to take her hand and pull her back into motion. "Keep up, we're almost there."

Charlotte groaned, muttering something about her calves, but nevertheless allowed him to tug her onwards.

Sure enough, it was only another twenty minutes or so to the top of the summit and, in his opinion, the view made the steep climb more than worth it.

Beyond the oak wood below them the vast, golden plains stretched out as far as the eye could see, cut in two by the shining, winding Mearing Stream that joined the distant Entwash. Behind them, the White Mountains loomed high, with the sun casting long shadows as it made its afternoon descent towards the western horizon. Far to the northwest, they could just make out the rolling hills of the Westemnet, flanked by the faint shadow of the southernmost tip of the Misty Mountains.

To the southeast was a vast glimmer that spoke of light on water, no doubt the sunlight catching on the distant mouths of the Entwash, where the large delta met the Anduin River. Beyond that, grey clouds rolled in, indicating a brewing storm.

The beacon of Halifirien itself was also an impressive sight; a huge, towering structure of wood over twelve feet high, set beneath an awning that could easily be removed to protect it from the rains and snows that no doubt frequented the peaks. He watched as Charlotte walked around it, trailing her hand over the wood as she gazed at the immense structure, the thoughtful expression marring her brow once more.

There were two other small, stone buildings up here on the peak; a store for additional timbers for the beacon, oil and food for the watchers, as well as a shelter for the men so that they were not exposed to the elements. The two men currently on their watch shift were happy to have guests and their presence, particularly Charlotte's, no doubt caused more excitement than many of the other long shifts they had endured. They eagerly showed her the baskets, arrows and saddles that they spent their time making, useful occupations to keep the hands busy during the endless, lonely and doubtless unexciting hours on the beacon.

"We'd best head back," Eomer said eventually; the sun hadn't truly set yet, but it had long since dipped behind the mountains and the eastern sky was starting to grow dark with the approaching clouds. Already he wondered if they would reach their camp before night fell in earnest.

Charlotte agreed and they said a merry farewell before starting to head back down the path. It was considerably easier to descend and they made good time, reaching the bottom in just over half the time it had taken them to climb the path in the first place.

The western sky was flaming orange behind the mountains, indicating that the sun was making its final descent towards the horizon, and the east held a tinge of dark, dusky blue amidst the rolling grey clouds.

Their camp was little under two hours away and Eomer initially thought they could make it if they set a fast, trotting pace without being bothered too much by the darkness, but a distant rumble of thunder quickly put the idea from his head. He would have chanced it with his men, but Charlotte was a novice at riding and a fast pace in rough weather may well be beyond her skills.

"Storm is coming in fast," one of the Gondorian men who had introduced himself as Arodon said, echoing his thoughts as he sheltered his eyes with his hand as he looked eastwards. "You'd best stay here, m'lord, you'll get caught in the squall and it'll be treacherous in the forest for a lady."

"Aye," he agreed, frowning as he glanced over towards the stables where Charlotte had gone to check on Raefen. He was not overly worried about his men coming to look for them. They would assume he and Charlotte were at the beacon and would not ride out into the night and rain to search for them. He and Charlotte would be able to reach the camp quickly in the morning, but he did wonder what she might make of staying in a strange place with unfamiliar men.

"'fraid we don't have much by way of beds. The rooms are barracks for the four of us here and not exactly suitable for a lady," the man added uneasily.

"Stables will be fine." That arrangement was far preferable to the idea of sharing the small, one roomed stone hut with the two relative strangers anyway; he had spent many nights in the stables in the past. "The horses would likely prefer the open air to a stable in a storm anyway." He nodded his head towards the small paddock where the Gondorian's own horses were picketed.

Arodon smiled at having come to a working plan. "Aye, there's plenty of fresh hay. You and your lady wife can bed down there," he said, and Eomer found that he did not wish to correct this assumption. "You'll join us for dinner before you turn in though? Cuion has caught a brace of rabbits for stew."

"Aye, that would be welcome," he agreed, and he headed to the stables to tell Charlotte the plan before she started saddling up to leave.

He found her hugging Raefen's neck while the horse snuffled at the red hair spilling down her back. Firefoot snorted at his arrival and seemed to bob his head in Charlotte's direction as he entered, as if to indicate something. She hadn't noticed him yet, and so he paused as he looked at her, noting the tension in her posture as she hugged the horse tightly.

"There's a storm coming in," he said quietly to announce his presence.

She disentangled herself from Raefen and looked at him, her eyes unreadable in the dim light. "I know. I heard the thunder," she said in a queer voice, looking away and avoiding his eyes.

He gazed at her for a moment, sensing that something wasn't right. "I thought we would stay here, in the stables, for the night," he said, watching for her reaction.

She seemed relieved to hear that, though still not entirely content. "That's fine. I didn't fancy riding in the rain anyway."

He raised his chin, looking at her closely. "Are you well, Charlotte?"

He wondered what could be wrong with her; was she fearful of spending the night in here with him alone?

She gave him a small, wan smile. "I'm fine," she assured him unconvncingly. She didn't seem aware of how her hands twisted nervously in front of her.

He nodded slowly, deciding not to press further. "Come then, Arodon and Cuion are preparing dinner for us." He held a hand out for her to take; she slipped her fingers naturally into his, as if she had been doing it all her life, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as they left the stable.

She was unusually quiet while they ate, though between them the three men were well able to carry a lively enough conversation. The food was plain, unseasoned fare, rabbit mixed with simple vegetables in broth, but it was hot and filling after a day spent in the cool mountain air. Eomer scarcely noticed when the rain began to beat at the windows, more preoccupied by Charlotte's silence.

The rain was well and truly hammering by the time they had finished and were ready to bed down for the night. The Gondorian men bade them goodnight and they made a quick dash through the darkness and rain to the stable, with Charlotte squeezing his hand in a tight grip as they ran.

She paused in the doorway, looking to the pasture where the horses were, even though the night hid them from view. "Will they be alright?" she asked, her face white in the dim light.

"Aye, storms don't bother them." Eomer gathered fresh hay into a thick pile for them to sleep on. "They are more comfortable under the open sky than in a stable in such weather."

She nodded and pushed the stable door shut, closing them in darkness. The sound of the rain dimmed, but could still clearly be heard pelting on the roof and walls. Lightning flashed again, followed by thunder several seconds later, indicating that the storm was almost upon them. His eyes quickly adjusted and he could just make out the faint silhouette of Charlotte lingering by the stable door, looking undeniably spooked as she wrapped her arms around herself.

Eomer wordlessly removed his armour, not enjoying sleeping in it unless he had to, leaving him in his tunic and breeches. He spread his cloak over the hay, much as he had done earlier for their lunch, and lay down on one side, leaving plenty of space for her - if she was indeed nervous about spending a night alone with him then he wanted to be as unthreatening as possible.

"And now, min haelfdige, I will bid you goodnight." He waved his hand towards her side of the makeshift bed and rolled onto his side so he had his back to her. It was more comfortable than many places he had slept over the years, but somehow he doubted sleep would come easily or quickly with Charlotte beside him.

He felt her creep over and sit on the very edge of the cloak, as far away from him as she could, reinforcing his suspicion of her fear of him and making him sigh. Their relationship over the past weeks had quickly become an undeniably close one, surprising him with the depth of affection and respect he had rapidly come to feel for her. Easy touches and smiles had come naturally to them, but clearly his rough handling of her yesterday and the marks he had inadvertently left of her skin as a consequence had spooked her despite her claiming easy forgiveness.

Long minutes passed, the rain and occasional boom of thunder being the only sounds in the stable, and she still made no move to lie down.

"Charlotte," he eventually said with another sigh, without turning to face her. "Try and sleep."

She let out a shuddering breath in response and he rolled over onto his back to look at her. He could just make out her figure in the darkness, sat on the edge of the cloak with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.

"I won't sleep," she replied shakily - she was far too frightened - truly terrified, even - to simply be worried about him. Something else had to be bothering her.

"What's wrong?" he asked once again, propping one arm behind his head to cushion it as he looked at her.

"Nothing," she insisted, utterly unconvincing as she peered up at the high windows of the stable, through which the rain could be seen.

He gazed at her for a long moment, trying to work out what could possibly be frightening her so badly.

She'd had a terrifying experience with the wolves the day before. He would not be surprised if she had nightmares. "No wolves in here, Charlotte," he said softly.

"I know," she said quietly - then suddenly a flash of lightning illuminated her white face and wide eyes, and a rolling boom of thunder instantly followed. The storm was right on top of them.

She squeaked and buried her face tightly into her knees, visibly shaking.

It was the _storm_ she was frightened of, Eomer realised belatedly. He felt rather foolish that it had taken him so long to realise.

"Come here," he ordered, leaving one arm behind his head and lifting his other to invite her over.

She immediately crawled over and clung tightly to him, burying her face in his chest. He could feel the shudders wracking her small, slender frame and wrapped his arm around her, smoothing his hand down her back in the process. The scent of her - chamomile, lingering lavender from his mother's cloak, blackberries and something uniquely her - filled his nose as he held her close.

There was another flash of lightning and loud rumble of thunder that shook the stables and she let out a small sob, burrowing closer and shivering in his arms.

"Hush, my sweet," he soothed, holding her tightly.

"I'm sorry," she said into his chest, her voice muffled. "I know it's stupid, but I've always _hated_ storms, ever since I was little," she told him, apparently feeling the need to justify her fears. "There was a night after my Mum left and my Dad was working very late. I was only a child but I was all on my own in the house, the lights had all gone out and there was this _storm_ …"

Another flash of lightning, another shudder running through her as she trailed off. Her fists tightened their grip on his tunic.

"You have told me little of your world," Eomer said quietly, wanting to distract her from her fears as his hand drifted up and down her back. "I know that you are a scholar and that you are not close to your family but I know little else."

It seemed to work; she shifted, raising her head to look up at him, their faces close together in the darkness.

"What do you want to know?" She seemed surprised by the question.

"Anything you care to tell me." His hand came to rest on her waist as he settled more comfortably back into the hay and the pillow of his arm behind his head.

He could just make out her tongue darting out to wet her lips in the darkness before she spoke, shifting to rest her chin on his chest.

Hesitantly, she told him about her life in a place called Oxford, describing an old and vast city of stone that was renowned as being a cultural hub due to the university there. She spoke of her studies, of learning and writing about different periods of history.

She would pause and shiver whenever the thunder boomed above them, but Eomer always distracted her again with quiet questions. From his prompting, she moved on to her childhood, describing a family that were largely disinterested at best and downright neglectful at worst. What she lacked in family though, she seemed to make up for in friends - she painted vivid, wondrous pictures with her words when she told him of travelling with friends the year before starting her studies, describing tropical shores, vast cities, colourful coral reefs and blistering deserts that were utterly alien to him.

He would have thought that she was making much of it up were it not for her genuine tone of voice and he was reminded anew by just how out of place she must feel.

More than that, her world sounded almost unimaginable - it struck him suddenly that she would one day return to it, leaving both Rohan and him behind forever.

This thought troubled him deeply; despite the easy and natural affection that seemed to have blossomed between them, she could never truly be _his_.

Unless, of course, he convinced her to stay … after all, it did not seem as if she was unaffected by him in turn.

It was food for thought, to say the least.

Eventually, after several long hours of quiet conversation, her voice trailed off. She yawned widely, trying to burrow deeper into his chest.

He ran his fingers through her soft, loose curls as he listened to the relentless rain on the roof and her deep breathing. He relished the feel of her body against his, fitting perfectly as if sleeping curled into him with her head on his chest was the most natural thing in the world.

There was another flash of lightning, but this time the answering thunder was several long seconds after it. "Storm's passing," he rasped quietly, wondering if she was already asleep.

"Good," she murmured sleepily in reply, no longer shivering in fear but utterly relaxed and compliant in his arms.

He smoothed his hand down her back once more, then pulled the edge of her fur-lined cloak so that it better covered both of them. She hummed in response to this movement, curling even closer into him as their legs slowly entwined.

"Sleep, min tannan," he breathed into her hair as she settled into a comfortable position.

"You still haven't told me what that means," she protested, sounding as if she was barely awake, her breath scorching the hollow of his throat at the open neck of his tunic.

Eomer chuckled softly in response. "Nor do I intend to, not yet anyway," he told her, briefly pressing his lips to her hair. He shifted so he could wrap both his arms around her.

"Sleep," he bade her once more, closing his own eyes as he savoured the warm heaviness of her body against his.

* * *

Charlotte woke slowly, feeling warm, comfortable and utterly safe. She kept her eyes closed, basking in the warmth and trying to make sense of what she could feel. The pillow she was lying on radiated heat, moving with deep, even breaths. She could hear faint snores and the steady thump, thump, thump of a heartbeat.

_Eomer_, she realised sleepily, instantly recognising the scent of horse, leather and sweat that clung to him as she breathed in deeply, turning her face into his chest. He had held her close throughout the storm, soothing her and listening to her speak about her world, her old life.

She was acutely aware of his hands on her. One rested on her hip outside the cloak he had given her, holding her close, while the other hand was beneath the folds of the material. It had slipped up her tunic in the night, resting high on her back, warm and heavy against her skin.

Opening her eyes, she moved a little and propped her chin on his chest, looking up at him. The early morning light slanted through the high windows of the stable, casting just enough light for her to make him out. His eyes were closed and the lines of his face and brows were soft in sleep. His hair fell around his face, tangled and golden, reminding her of a lion.

He was beautiful, she thought, if you could say that about a man.

Charlotte considered herself a perfectly rational person, fully in tune with her thoughts and feelings, and so she was capable of being honest with herself in admitting that she was well on the way to falling in love with this man.

The men - boys, really - that she had dated in the past paled in comparison to him; they all seemed so _young_ in hindsight, nothing like the honorable, brave and loyal warrior holding her in his arms.

Yet he was not meant for her.

She knew how this story unfolded, had received a clear reminder of it the previous day when he had appeared to be crowned with gold at the spot where the Oath of Eorl had been taken, an oath he would renew with Aragorn when he became King of Rohan.

In little over a year's time, he would marry the Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth and have a son called Elfwine.

And Charlotte would have to go home.

She sighed as the inevitability of heartbreak closed around her.

He felt the movement and responded to it, taking a deep breath in through his nose as he started to wake. His hands tightened on her, the one beneath her tunic sliding down to rest on the skin of the small of her back, making her flex instinctively into him.

His eyes opened, golden and sleepy in the morning light, and he smiled slowly at her.

It was a dangerous look, one that sent shivers down her spine.

"Good morning," she said quietly to stop herself doing something foolish, like ignoring the voice of reason in her head that spoke of preserving the story and instead kissing him senseless.

"Ead morgen, min alfsciene hlaefdige," he replied in a voice rusty with sleep, his other hand coming up to gently push her hair back from her temples.

His gaze roved over her face. The fingers at her temple trailed softly down her cheek to lightly and curiously touch her mouth, where his eyes came to rest. Clearly his thoughts had gone in the same direction as hers.

Her eyes briefly fluttered closed at the feeling of his thumb on her lower lip before she forced herself to move.

She pushed herself up from the floor, deliberately breaking the moment.

"We should …" she said pointedly as she dusted herself off. She already missed the warmth from his body.

Eomer looked startled for a second, then nodded and got to his own feet.

"Aye." He picked up his cloak and shook it out.

She could still feel his gaze on her after she had broken the intmate moment between them, so she busied herself with removing the straw from her clothing to avoid his searching eyes.

He caught her arm, startling her with his sudden proximity, and she looked up into his face. He pulled a piece of straw from her hair with an easy smile.

She laughed awkwardly. "I must look a sight." she commented, smoothing down her wrinkled tunic.

"You do," he agreed.

The warmth in his eyes only heightend her fear that her feelings for him might just be requited. The thought filled her with both elation and anxiety.

He bent to pick up his armour and gave her another smile. "Come, we'd best get back to the camp - we have rents to collect."

* * *

**My, what a long chapter!**

**Big thank you to BlackAquoKat for betaing :)**

**Leave a review, my darlings**!


	9. Gafolraeden

**Chapter 9 - Gafolraeden**

* * *

"_**Stieran mon sceal strongum mode, ond þæt on staþelum healdan."  
**_"_One must steer a strong mind, and keep it steady."_

_The seafarer_

* * *

They made it back to the camp in good time, trotting through the damp forest and cantering where the path was clear, and found the wagons packed up and ready to depart. There was a little gentle ribbing from the other riders about them having spent the night away from the camp, but it was all in good humour.

They headed towards the first village to begin collecting the rents, reaching it after less than an hour of riding.

The group was greeted cheerfully despite the fact that they were there to collect money from the villagers. The people brought out earthenware mugs of hot tea as they arrived and conversations in Rohirric quickly sprung up around them. Many of the faces were clearly familiar to the riders she accompanied, and the riders were happy to catch up with old friends.

Charlotte felt a little lost in the midst of the small, crude settlement since she couldn't hear any conversations in Westron. She busied herself with tending to Raefen and collecting the correct ledgers from the wagon while the others talked. Before long, Halas and Winfred set up a small, makeshift table with two barrels and a couple of planks of wood, and she seated herself on a third, smaller barrel to use as a stool.

The villagers started to form a haphazard queue, still laughing, talking, and sharing drinks.

Eomer led the rent-taking, greeting all of the villagers by name and speaking to them familiarly in Rohirric. He appeared to be asking them questions about their lives, families, or businesses, and they spoke to him with friendly deference as their lord in turn.

Charlotte's role was to count and record the money or produce in the ledger and she quickly acquired an audience. A couple of young children from the village came and hovered at her shoulder, pointing at the writing in abject fascination and babbling away to each other.

"Many of these children have no notion of reading or writing," Eomer explained to her in a low voice during a pause between two villagers. "To them it is almost … magic."

Despite not speaking Rohirric, Charlotte was fascinated by everything going on around her. She examined the people, noting how care-worn they were despite their easy smiles and welcomes. Similarly, the buildings were very different from those in Aldburg, the fields surrounding the village containing different produce.

Charlotte thought for a moment, then went to retrieve a blank ledger she had brought along just in case and then started to make notes on her observations.

The rent taking carried on for several hours and by the end of it they had coins merrily jangling in the strong box, four chickens trussed up in wicker cages, and several bags of vegetables stored in the wagon. There had only been one small incident where a family did not have enough to pay after having had to make repairs on their roof, but Eomer spoke softly to the father and they shook hands, both evidently happy with whatever arrangement they had made.

They bade the village farewell and moved on once more. Their next stops were isolated farm houses. They scarcely stayed more than fifteen minutes at each, but again Eomer took the time to speak to the people and listen to any problems. Several times he asked Charlotte to note something in the ledgers - a wall in need of repair, or a request to extend a field's boundary.

They reached another village around mid-afternoon and Charlotte quickly found herself an object of curiosity once again. A group of children, a set of siblings by the looks of it, stood several yards away, whispering and pointing at her.

"Ead daeg," she said politely; it almost exhausted her limited knowledge of Rohirric to greet them.

The children giggled and ran away, back towards where the riders were mingling with the villagers and enjoying welcoming cups of cider. She followed after and found them clambering around Eomer's knees, practically climbing up his legs and babbling in Rohirric as he spoke to an older lady.

He caught her gaze and waved her over and said something in Rohirric to the lady. There was something so strange, yet oddly compelling, about hearing him speak thus - the words were alien and rough, yet his voice lilted over the guttural pronunciation. She caught her name, incongruous within the Rohirric, and realised he must be introducing her.

To her surprise, the older woman grabbed her, turning her head this way and that to look at her. "Reod haer," she said in an approving tone as she looked Charlotte up and down, examining her braid and then pinching her cheeks. "Ead, ealfela ead. Thu elfela spedig mann." She winked at Eomer, who let out a bark of laughter in response.

The woman fondly pinched his cheek as well and then shooed them over to the wagons, where Halas and Bryde were setting up the small makeshift table once more.

Still chuckling, Eomer nodded back towards the woman as they started gathering the ledgers from inside the wagon, with him bent low to avoid hitting his head. "Hildwyn, my father's aunt," he told her, explaining the woman's familiarity. "The children are her grandchildren, very distant kin of mine on that side."

"She said reod haer, is that red hair?" Charlotte held the small box that he passed to her, containing the quills and ink she had taken from the study for the journey.

"Aye." He knelt on the wagon floor, still looking for the ledger they needed.

"And ead means good, like ead morgen or ead daeg," she pressed, wanting to know exactly what the woman had said to make him laugh so much.

Eomer nodded and moved to check the strong boxes.

There was a brief silence and she got the impression that he was purposefully avoiding her questions.

"Maudig said that red hair was considered lucky here," she continued, undeterred by his lack of explanation.

His lips twitched beneath his beard. "Did she now?" His voice was light and he looked down at the strong boxes he was fiddling with rather than at her.

There was another pause.

"_Well_?" she said with growing exasperation when he didn't respond any further.

He looked up with deliberate innocence. "Well what?"

"Why is red hair considered lucky?"

He chuckled again and, with the appropriate ledger and strong box in his arms, got to his feet and moved to leave the wagon.

Charlotte blocked his way with an arm barring the entry flap. He raised his brows in obvious amusement at her audacity.

"I'm not going to drop this, you might as well tell me."

"It is not … entirely appropriate," he hedged, clearly fighting a smile, his hazel eyes bright with humour

He made to move passed her again and she shifted the box of writing materials so that it was in both arms as she stepped sideways to block his way - inadvertently, they ended up practically chest to chest in the dim light of the wagon

"Well now you've just increased my curiosity."

He pressed his lips together to hide his amusement, clearly uncowed by her attempt at intimidation.

"_Eomer_," she added in a warning tone.

"Very well," he said congenially, giving in with good humour but making no move to back up from their close proximity. "Red mares - true reds, not sorrells or chestnuts - are considered good breeding horses because they … supposedly enjoy being covered by a stallion," he told her plainly, his eyes twinkling as he watched her mouth drop open in response. "Eventually the superstition transferred to red-haired women as well, all the more so since it is such a rare colour here."

She blinked up at him, once, twice, three times. "Are you telling me that people of Rohan think redheads are ... good in bed?"

"Essentially," he confirmed, still fighting a sly smile.

"Unbelievable." Charlotte laughed and shook her head. She thought of some of the sayings she knew about redheads from her own world, many of them linked to sex. "What else did she say?" she added, knowing that the woman had said more to him than that.

"She said that your husband will be a lucky man." There was a warm look in his amber eyes as he looked down at her and she couldn't help but think of how they had woken up with his large, calloused hands beneath her tunic in the stable that morning. "I am inclined to agree with her."

Remembering the wink that Hildwyn had given him, Charlotte felt her cheeks flush - the curse of the red-headed - and she instinctively averted her eyes, unsure what to make of such an overt compliment.

Eomer, meanwhile, inclined his head towards the door of the wagon that she was still blocking and she moved aside to let him pass. He turned, shifting the strong box and ledger in his arms, so that he could offer a hand to help her down as well. His hand was warm and rough, dwarfing her own, and he gave it a gentle squeeze as he released it.

Flustered and no doubt still red in the face, Charlotte took her seat at the makeshift table and busied herself with finding the right pages in the books.

They ended up staying the night in the village and the atmosphere was almost festive. Hildwyn, Eomer's great aunt, had cooked up a feast, a rich and meaty stew with freshly baked bread that she insisted on everyone partaking in. The villagers also shared their food and drink generously and Charlotte found herself accepting a second, then a third cup of strong honey mead.

One of the old men had a small fiddle and took little coaxing to begin playing. Before long the riders, Eomer included, were singing songs in Rohirric that she scarcely understood a word of. Music and conversation carried on late into the night. She was unsurprised to learn that Eomer's singing voice was deep and rich. It sent shivers down her spine.

Charlotte felt a little out of her depth with the language barrier, but the people were friendly and welcoming enough to make up for it. They seemed happy to talk at her without expecting a reply and the riders she travelled with, who all spoke Westron, were happy to translate the occasional phrase or line of a song for her.

The revelry died down around the middle of the night and people started to seek their beds, the riders among them since they had an early start in the morning.

Their day to day routine was much the same over the next week or so, making their way through the small villages and farms of the plains. She was intrigued to watch Eomer lead a kind of makeshift court in several of the villages; disputes that could not be settled by the most senior resident of the village were referred to the lord. If they could not visit the lord's seat they had to wait for either these biannual visits or an Eored to pass through.

Charlotte continued her extra notes as they travelled through the villages, logging things like geographical features, population size and demographic, number of dwellings, businesses in each town or foodstuffs they produced. She did not know what she would do with it, but she figured the information might be useful somehow.

Their meandering route also took them out over the open plains to meet with the herdsmen. She had questioned why the nomadic herdsmen had to pay rent when they did not stay in any property and Eomer had explained to her that the rents, or gafolraeden, were not necessarily about property, but rather taxes or tribute to the king. They were always greeted with pleasure by the nomadic herdsmen. Charlotte found herself enraptured by the massive herds of horses they came across, particularly the young yearlings that capered about in the golden grass, making her grin as she watched them.

One afternoon when they had stopped out on the plains, she found one of the herdsmen with Raefen, checking her hooves and running his hands down her legs.

"Are you alright there?" she asked as she approached.

The man looked up at her and said something incomprehensible in Rohirric. She frowned in confusion.

"He said she seems well cared for," Eomer said from behind her, making her turn in surprise since she had not heard him coming. He waved a hand towards the man. "This is Hamfast. His is the herd that Raefen comes from, but with Mordor raiding us for black horses she was pulled back to Aldburg for safety," he added by way of explanation.

Charlotte blinked and looked at the herdsman. "She's yours," she said in realization, understanding now why the man had been checking her health. She looked at Eomer again. "Can you tell him that I said thank you for letting me ride her? She really is lovely."

Eomer's mouth twitched and he spoke obligingly to Hamfast in Rohirric.

They had a brief conversation, then Eomer's eyes moved from her to the horse, and back again. He smiled slyly and asked Hamfast something that made the old man start in surprise.

"Charlotte, would you help Devan see to our afternoon meal," Eomer asked lightly as he turned to her once more.

She had the distinct impression he was trying to get her out of the way, which seemed odd considering she didn't understand what they were saying anyway.

"Alright …" She glanced between the two of them, then patted Raefen on the neck before leaving.

Several minutes later, Eomer rejoined them, a small smile lingering around his mouth. Winfred asked him a question and Charlotte caught the Rohirric word for horse; Eomer laughed and nodded, clearly well pleased with himself for some reason.

She was surprised to find that they were packing up to leave after they finished lunch. "Wait," Charlotte said, hurrying to collect the ledger and her quill. "What is his rent?" she asked, opening the ledger to the correct page.

Eomer gave her a quick smile. "It's been taken care of," he informed her.

"But … I didn't write anything down," she said, more than a little confused.

His smile lingered as he gently took the ledger from her and closed it. "I said it has been taken care of."

"Alright …" she said slowly, squinting up at him.

Eomer gave a small, amused noise, clearly entertained by her suspicious attitude. He touched her quickly and fondly under the chin with his knuckles. "Come now, Bryde is saddling the horses."

Charlotte sighed a little at the idea of getting back into the saddle and stretched, interlocking her arms above her head and twisting until she heard a pop in her back.

"Are you well?" Eomer voice was laced with some concern, a sudden frown pulling at his mouth in response to her grimace.

She lowered her arms and gave him a wan smile. "I feel absolutely disgusting and I ache all over," she confessed. It was the longest she had ever gone without washing. Her skin felt grimy, her clothes itchy and her hair was lank and greasy within its disheveled braid.

Eomer's brow lined as his frown deepened. "What with being attacked by wolves and being saddle sore, I fear you are wishing you had not come." A hint of regret colored his tone.

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world," she reassured him ardently. She relished the opportunity to see more of this beautiful country despite the discomfort. "Your people are so friendly, so welcoming. I really do love it here, more than I ever expected."

His face cracked into a relieved smile, looking as if the sun had just come out. "I am very glad you think so." He sounded so genuine, his smile lingering. He then jerked his head towards the horses. "Come, let's see about finding you some warm water in the next village. I'll not have you braving the wolves again just to get clean."

* * *

Charlotte quickly started to pick up various phrases in Rohirric - she now knew lots of polite necessities, things like yes, no, good morning, good night, please, and thank you. It was enough to greet the people she met in their own language and express her gratitude for the food and drink pressed upon them in welcome wherever they went.

She also, however, picked up several words and phrases that would probably be less useful outside of collecting rents - she doubted things like 'please put the chickens in the wagon' or 'what kind of grain is this?' would be needed back in Aldburg.

More than that, she could now join in with many of the songs sung in Rohirric. She largely had no idea what she was singing, but she'd had some of them translated by the riders. Many of them were histories, stories passed on through oral tradition, but there was a song about seasons, one about a woman with hair like honey, and, unsurprisingly, several songs about horses.

One evening, a little less than two weeks into their journey, Charlotte found herself next to an old smith, trying to have a conversation as best they could with his broken Westron. He was teaching her several new words pertaining to his trade - sword, anvil, hammer and the like, and she listened with rather forced attention.

She glanced over at Eomer, who sat opposite her with his elbow braced on his knee and a tankard of ale in hand as he spoke to the tanner of the village.

She decided to ask something she had wanted to know for a while but had not dared ask any of the riders lest they ridicule her. "What does … _min tannan_ mean?"

"Tannan?" the man repeated in some surprise. He shook his head. "Nay, nay, no tannan. We net the water, the fords, aye?" He noticed her look of complete bewilderment. "The eafisc - eafisc?" He wiggled his hand as if to indicate the movement of a swimming fish.

"Fish?" she guessed in utter confusion.

"Aye, fish. The fish swim in nets." He nodded in satisfaction at having answered her question.

Charlotte gave him a small, somewhat wan smile and changed the subject back to smithing.

Clearly he hadn't understood what she was asking him.

* * *

It was late afternoon on a bright, sunny day and they stopped at an isolated farmstead out on the plains less than ten miles out from Aldburg. Charlotte was told that this would likely be their last night out collecting the rents. They should be able to attend to the rest of the small villages or settlements tomorrow and return to Aldburg by the evening. She was pleased to hear it and looked forward to a wash and a change of clothing - she only hoped she would be able to talk Eomer into letting her use his bathtub again.

The farmstead they stopped at was run by a husband and his heavily pregnant wife, with two small girls running about underfoot. Charlotte had been pleased to find that they both spoke Westron and enjoyed a lively conversation with the woman as she helped her with the washing while Eomer spoke to the farmer, having missed her conversations with Dernhild or the women of the hall.

They largely spoke about the coming baby; the woman told her she was not due for another month or so, but her mother was coming from Aldburg next week to help them prepare for the baby's arrival.

They were hanging out the washing they had just finished when the woman, Frieda, gasped and bent over, clutching at her stomach.

"Are you alright?" Charlotte asked in alarm, hastening over and lightly taking her by the shoulders to support her. Frieda breathed deeply through her nose, her eyes scrunched tightly. "Are … are those labour pains?"

Frieda let out a shuddering breath. "My water broke."

Charlotte noticed the small puddle of liquid pooling in the dust beneath her and Frieda let out a small, weak laugh. "This baby is not due for another month at least."

"Oh my god …" Charlotte said, felt the beginnings of panic rising in her chest. She fluttered her hands, guiding the older woman down to a small barrell. "Sit down, I'll go get someone."

Leaving Frieda breathing deeply and holding her stomach, Charlotte hastened around the house at speed. "Eomer, Eomer!" she shouted as she ran. She almost collided head first into Bryde as she hurtled around a corner.

"Great Bema, what is it?" the young lad asked in some alarm as she skidded to a halt.

"It's Frieda, her water broke," she gasped, catching her breath.

Bryde looked at her in utter confusion. Charlotte sighed deeply and elaborated with some exasperation. "She's having her baby."

With the rest of the riders and the farmer, Grindan, informed, a flurry of activity followed. Aldhelm took one of the horses and set off at a gallop in the direction of the nearest village to seek a midwife and everyone else set about making things ready as best they could. Frieda was put to bed, while hot water and linens were prepared for the baby's arrival.

Charlotte stood at Frieda's head as she lay in bed, braiding her hair to keep it out of her face while the woman groaned through another labour pain.

She then let out a deep sigh. "It'll be a quick one, I can tell," she said ruefully, her face already red and shining with sweat. "The pains are already close together."

Charlotte suppressed a frown, looking out at the gathering dark outside the window. She was worried that the midwife had not yet arrived. She plumped Frieda's pillow and told her she would be back in a moment before heading outside.

She found the group of riders looking out over the plains in the direction of the nearest village. They were speaking in low voices and exchanged glances at her arrival. "Where is she?" she asked as she joined them, referring to the midwife Aldhelm had been sent for.

"Not here," Eomer replied, his voice rather heavy.

He gently took her arm and led her apart from the group, speaking in a whisper. "Charlotte. Do you have any knowledge of childbirth?"

"A little, but -" Her eyes suddenly widened at the implication in his question. "Why do you ask?"

"You must deliver the child," he said simply.

She spluttered in abject shock. "I beg your pardon?"

"I believe you heard me," he replied, completely serious.

"I - I can't -"

"You must." His hand fell heavy on her shoulder.

"No, no …" She shook her head; he showed no sign of relenting in his insistence. "_No_!" she repeated with greater vehemence.

Eomer looked grave. "You are a woman, it has to be you."

Charlotte shook her head once again, anger piercing through her alarm. "_No_, Eomer," she repeated, batting his hand off her shoulder. "You've all been talking about delivering foals and - and _stuff_, that means that the rest of _you_ have far more experience with this kind of thing than me."

"Charlotte," he persisted, his voice low, deep, and serious. "It is _terribly_ bad luck for a man to be present in a birthing room."

"Ha!" she said derisively, utterly unimpressed with this argument.

"I am serious." His expression grew somber. "It would risk the child being stillborn or deformed."

"Superstitious _nonsense_," she insisted, her own tone firm and unyielding.

I have heard of it happening." Eomer certainly looked like he believed what he said.

She threw her hands up in the air in frustration, for the first time growing truly annoyed at how backwards and archaic Rohan was in comparison to her world. "Then it _must_ be true!"

Still, he showed no sign of relenting and Charlotte felt the inevitability of bowing to this demand closing around her. "Eomer ... I don't know what to do."

"You said you knew the basics, and Frieda knows what she is doing," he pointed out.

Charlotte fidgeted, shuffling her feet. "What would you have done if I wasn't here?"

"Her husband would have tended to her, but it would not have been a good thing." Eomer seemed to sense her wavering resolve and pressed his advantage, taking her hand and holding it gently between both of his own. "Please, Charlotte."

She sighed and pressed her lips together. "I am not happy about this." Her voice caught in her throat. "Not one bit."

"But you will do it," Eomer said, pressing her hand as he looked at her intently.

Charlotte let out a deep, shuddering breath and squared her shoulders, steeling herself. "Seems I have no choice," she muttered somewhat mutinously, and with that she pulled her hand free from his and marched into the farmhouse without a backward glance.

She found Frieda where she had left her in the bed, panting and groaning her way through another contraction. She explained nervously that the midwife had not yet arrived and busied herself with checking the linen and hot water. "Alright, we can do this, we can do this …" she said to herself, wringing one of the cloths in her hands.

"Don't worry dear, I'm an old hand at this," Frieda soothed, picking up on her anxiety. "Two children and I help my husband delivering the foals and lambs every year." She patted her hand, smiling in consolation even while her face was red and sweating with exertion. "Deep breaths now. We'll shift along well enough."

* * *

Pained noises and loud groans floated down from the open window to where Grindan and the riders sat outside, passing mugs of ale around as they waited.

"Woman make such a fuss of things," Grindan said with a small, amused shake of his head as his wife let out a particularly loud groan. "I've had mares drop their foals with nary a noise, but for women it is hours of raving and swearing that they'll never welcome you to their bed again."

Laughter and knowing nods ran through the group.

"This is your third child, is it not?" Eomer asked pointedly; he nodded towards the two small girls sitting with their father, playing with little, carved wooden horses.

Grindan smiled widely. "Well, that's not to say that they stand by their words in the heat of the moment," he joked, making laughter ring out again. The farmer tilted his head towards the window. "Is that your lady in there, my lord?"

"Nay." Eomer shook his head. "She lives at Aldburg, she helps with the ledgers."

Grindan snorted into his tankard of ale. "If you ask me, my lord, if you've got a woman like that running your hall and not warming your bed as your wife then you haven't got the sense Bema gave a newborn colt," he scolded good naturedly and his riders, well aware of how his attention had been caught by their foreign guest, hooted their amusement.

Eomer, remembering the way she had sat between his legs on Raefen's back with his hands on her hips, guiding her movement, and how she had clung to him and slept the night in his arms with her head on his chest, conceded that the farmer had a point. "Give me time," he said wryly, toasting the farmer with his own tankard.

"Aye, he's already bought her the traditional betrothal gift," Winfred revealed with a grin to the group.

Eomer hid his smile, having purchased Raefen from Hamfast a few days ago when they had met the herdsman out on the plains. He would give the horse to her when the time was right.

"You're set on her then?" Halas playfully nudged Byrde, the youngest of them there. "You'll break poor Bryde's heart."

The teenager spluttered into his tankard of ale in abject protest, blushing scarlet even as he denied this claim, much to the laughter of the rest.

Devan, however, looked approvingly at Eomer. "You could scarce do better, she's a good woman," he told him seriously.

"Aye, that she is," Eomer agreed.

First, however, he had to convince her to stay, he thought to himself as the conversation shifted in another direction.

The baby was small, delivered early and quickly. A woman from a nearby village arrived on horseback with Aldhelm just as the pained groans floating through the window were replaced by the hearty, loud wailing of a newborn baby. She hastened up the stairs to take over delivering the afterbirth and tending to Frieda.

Charlotte appeared moments later, white faced and shaking. Her hands, arms and tunic were streaked with blood. She noticed them all looking at her expectantly and managed a small, though genuine smile. "It's a boy," she announced quietly to the assembled group.

A cheer went up and the riders slapped an elated Grindan on the back. The farmer vanished upstairs to see his wife and emerged some minutes later with a squalling baby in his arms. He was widely congratulated as his newborn son was heralded as a future rider, or even captain, and another barrel of ale was rolled out to celebrate.

Eomer, however, realised that Charlotte had vanished.

She had slipped round the side of the building, towards where the wagons had been unhitched by a water barrel. Eomer found her scrubbing at her hands and arms in an attempt to wash off the blood and other fluids.

"Are you alright?"

She let out a shaking breath. "I'm just … the adrenalin, you know?"

He nodded his understanding, coming to stand right next to her and putting his hand on her shoulder. "You did well, Charlotte, truly. Apparently Frieda said your help was valuable."

She gave him another wan, somewhat forced smile. "She was the one doing all the hard work," she pointed out, still positively trembling. She looked down at herself and shook her head. "I feel disgusting," she muttered, holding out the hem of her stained tunic.

"Here." He ducked briefly into the nearby wagon and returned with one of his own spare tunics. She took it with another small smile and he turned around as she slipped out of her stained one and replaced it with his.

She touched him on the arm to indicate it was safe for him to turn around and he suppressed a smile at seeing the way the large tunic hung off one shoulder. It was strangely satisfying to see her in his clothes, though he couldn't quite have explained why that was.

He passed her his half full tankard of ale and she downed it quickly, still looking shaken.

"They wish to honour you," he informed her. "What is your father's name?"

She blinked up at him in confusion. "What?"

He cracked a smile. "A young rider cannot be called Charlotte."

"Oh!" Her eyes grew very wide. "Well ... I was never very close to my father. Especially recently," she hesitated and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "My grandfather's name was Alfred though," she said in a questioning voice, as if asking if the name met his approval. She half raised one shoulder, making his tunic slip down another half inch.

"Alfred," he repeated, then inclined his head in agreement. "It sounds Rohirric."

She smiled at his approval. "I was always much closer to him anyway," she told him. "He used to call me his little Lottie."

"Lottie?" He found the shortened name amusing even if it didn't fit her - it seemed a child's name, and she was a lady.

"As in Charlotte," she explained unnecessarily and he nodded his understanding.

He jerked his head back towards the front of the house, where the riders were making their way through the additional ale that had been supplied by the elated new father. "Come, let's wet this baby's head." He held out a hand for her to take.

She slipped her hand in his instantly, her skin chilled from where she had washed in the cold barrel, and he guided her to where the rest of the group were already drinking under the stars.

Charlotte was still shaky and much quieter than usual, but she accepted another tankard of ale and sat next to him as the group made toasts and sung many songs.

Grindan proudly approached her with the still wailing baby in his arms. "Would you like to hold him, my lady?" he offered with a great beaming smile.

She good-naturedly shook her head. "Thank you, but I think that little Alfred and I have already got acquainted enough for one evening," she said wryly, to the laughter of the group.

"Here," Devan said, taking him from the farmer and bouncing the baby; Devan had several children of his own and was an old hand at calming babies. He rocked the baby back and forward as he walked and the child soon quieted in his arms.

Grindan had gone back inside to check on Frieda and so Devan passed the newborn to Eomer once it had stopped crying. Eomer jostled his arms slightly to better settle the babe in the crook of his arm, noting how utterly tiny it was. He was well used to holding babies; it was a Rohirric traditional that infants were presented to the lord for inspection and blessing.

He found Charlotte watching him with a small smile playing about her mouth.

"What is it?" He spoke softly so as not to disturb the child, who had just started to close his little eyes.

She shook her head. "There is something about seeing a man holding a baby that warms a woman's heart," she admitted, her eyes very bright.

"Then by all means, look your fill," Eomer walked over to her. He stood right before her with the baby between them; she stood on her tiptoes to peek into the blankets he held in his arms and hummed slightly. "Do you wish to have children?" He watched her delicately stroke the baby's cheek with her forefinger.

She gave him another wry look. "If you'd asked me yesterday, or if you ask me again tomorrow, I would say yes. Tonight, however, I would say absolutely _not_."

He laughed a little at that, having seen how unnerved she seemed to have been by assisting with the birth.

She looked up at him. "Do you?"

"Aye, most definitely," he said instantly, still holding her eyes as he rocked the child.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then abruptly closed it again, her expression turning slightly sad.

He was about to ask what was wrong when Grindan approached; Frieda was awake and wanted their son up there with her. Eomer handed over the child and the two of them sat down among the other riders. Somehow, the moment to ask her what was troubling her had passed and the silence hung heavily in the air between them.

The celebrations started to wind down; there was still drinking and talking, but less loud merriment and exuberance. The songs started once again, quieter, deeper and more melodious as the night wore on.

Not being able to join in with many of the songs, an exhausted and drained Charlotte put her head on his shoulder to listen as they sung late into the night, her eyes shining like mirrors and a small frown creasing her brow. It was not long before Eomer noticed that her eyes had drifted shut and that she had fallen asleep against him.

Wordlessly, he signaled to his riders and then picked her up easily, one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back. She burrowed tighter into his arms as he carried her effortlessly towards the wagon.

She stirred a little as he pulled back the entry-flap and climbed up into the back of the wagon. "Eomer?" she murmured, not even opening her eyes.

"Shhh, sleep," he bade her softly as he laid her gently down on the cot, tucking the furs around her.

He felt her icy fingers on his face in the darkness, ghosting over his cheek. The touch felt sad, wistful even and he wondered anew what had caused her sudden sadness.

He took her hand and kissed the tips of her cold fingers before tucking her hand beneath the furs for warmth.

"Good night, min tannan," he breathed, pressing another brief kiss to her forehead in the darkness; she didn't reply, having already fallen asleep once more.

Eomer went to rejoin the celebration, still deep in thought as to what could have upset her.

* * *

**Hi all,**

**Apologies for how long this chapter took to get up - I've had a manic few weeks with moving house, picking up new responsibilities at work, my dog being put down, a break up and being a bridesmaid in my best friends wedding … Talk about an emotional roller coaster!**

**Also, for those following any of my other in progress stories, particularly the Marvel ones, they are not abandoned - real life is simply taking priority at the moment!**

**Big thank you to BlackAquoKat for betaing :)**

**Leave a review, my darlings!**


	10. Bleocraeft and Bremelberies

**Chapter 10 - Bleocraeft and bremelberies**

* * *

"_**Eadig bið se þe in his eðle geþihð."**__  
_"_Fortunate is he who prospers in his homeland."_

_Maxims I_

* * *

It was mid afternoon the following day when they finally returned to Aldburg. The familiar valley and fortified town was a welcome sight, with the people of the town smiling and calling out their greetings as they weaved their way up the roughly cobbled streets towards the hall. They had sent Halas on ahead from the last village and so the group was greeted at the courtyard below the hall by Eothain (who had stayed to command in Eomer's stead), Dernhild, Maudig, Annwyn, Hollis, and the families of the riders who had accompanied them.

As usual, Eomer lifted Charlotte down from Raefen's back and she was quickly enveloped in hugs from Dernhild and the women of the hall - she couldn't help but notice that Annwyn took the opportunity of greeting her betrothed with a kiss while Hollis, her mother, was occupied hugging Charlotte. Charlotte made sure to distract the older woman for a few moments longer to allow the couple a proper greeting.

Maudig, who had been hugging an embarrassed Bryde, was next to enfold her in a tight embrace that smelled of freshly baked bread. Releasing her, the old cook pinched her cheeks with a bright smile. "Good to see ye, good to see ye." She studied Charlotte fondly and sighed. "Ah, child, all that fresh air has done ye good, ye're bonnier than ever. There's hot water ready inside and food when ye're done bathing."

"You're a gem," Charlotte declared with a happy sigh of her own. She wanted nothing more than to wash and change out of her clothes. She had resorted to putting on the travel-stained tunic she had worn at the start of the trip after ruining her other one helping Frieda with her baby.

They split off, the riders heading towards the barracks to wash and change whilst she and Eomer lead the way into the hall.

They reached the corridor at the top of the stairs in the family wing and Eomer paused at the open door to his chambers. He raised his brows and waved his hand to gesture that she take the first bath; Charlotte grinned gratefully at him as she slipped past him into his room, happy that she didn't even have to ask. She was aware of Eomer lingering for a moment as she untied the fastening of the beautiful green cloak he had given her, then he slowly closed the door behind her to give her privacy.

She immediately toed off her boots and left the cloak on the bed before going to check the temperature of the bath water. It was scalding hot, perfect for her needs right now, and so she stripped off the rest of her clothing and sunk into the steaming water with another sigh.

Many long, luxurious minutes later, warm and clean with pinked skin from the heat of the bath, she dressed in a fresh, simple brown dress with her damp, combed hair hanging down her back. She went to look for Eomer, who seemed to have vanished after offering her the first bath. She followed the sound of voices down the corridor towards the study, where the door stood open.

"... asking about strangers in the town and he wanted to see the ledgers," she heard Eothain saying in a low voice. "Grima was most put out to find that you had taken them with you."

"That snake," Eomer snarled back, sounding angrier than she had ever heard him. "He may have the King's ear but he has no right to come to Aldburg demanding such things."

Charlotte knocked on the open door to announce her presence and the two men fell silent as they looked up at her.

They had brought up the ledgers and strong boxes from the wagons below while she had been bathing and Eomer was sorting through them with a deep frown while Eothain, wearing his armour and holding his helm in his hand, stood before the desk.

"Captain Eothain, how are you?" She hadn't had the opportunity to greet him downstairs since he had been talking to the riders.

"I am well, thank you," he replied with equal politeness - he no longer looked at her with the suspicion he had done when she had first arrived, but they could not exactly be called friends despite her friendship with his wife. He turned back to Eomer and nodded brusquely at him. "I'll see you downstairs."

"Aye, I'll be there in a few minutes," Eomer confirmed, his frown lingering.

He waited until Eothain left and closed the door behind him before giving Charlotte a forced smile. "Better?" he asked, an odd note in his voice.

"Much, it's good to be back home." She felt infinitely more human after a bath and a change of clothes. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but feel that she had interrupted an important conversation. "Any news from here?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Among … other things, Eothain has reported that bands of orcs have moved across the plains from the West. He routed them, but the bands scattered and there is still a danger." Eomer exhaled deeply through his nose, the lines around his mouth grim. "Isengard is testing our borders, it seems."

"So you're leaving?" Charlotte wrapped her arms around herself as she frowned at him in turn. She didn't like idea of him leaving so soon after their return.

"Aye." He didn't sound overly happy about it either.

"But we've only just got back … Do you have to go?"

He blinked at her and she immediately shook her head with a sigh, regretting her words. They sounded needy and petulant even to her own ears. "I'm sorry, I know you do."

"I'll only be a few days, certainly I'll be back for Hollantide." He paused. "Speaking of which …" He dropped his gaze and rummaged for something in a drawer of the desk; he passed her a small, merrily clinking bag of coins.

"What's this?" She opened the purse and tipped part of its contents into her hand. Several dozen small silver coins pooled into her palm.

"You will need a dress for the Hollantide celebrations," Eomer explained. "There is a seamstress in town, she'll see to it."

"I already have dresses." She gestured with some bemusement to the clean, plain brown dress she was wearing.

"Something finer than you have already." A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before his gaze turned serious and intent. "I would have you be a cupbearer that evening," he added, watching her reaction with his head ever so slightly cocked.

"A cupbearer?"

"Aye, have you heard of the term?"

Charlotte shrugged. "I know that the Ancient Egyptians, a civilization in my world, had cupbearers to guard the pharaoh against poison, sometimes even to act as a food taster."

Eomer seemed to hear her unasked question and shook his head. "The position is more ceremonial here. A cupbearer offers the cup of welcome as guests enter the hall."

"Alright," she agreed with a smile. That sounded easy enough - indeed, it didn't even sound very out of the ordinary from serving ale to the people in the hall. She slipped the coins in her hand back into the purse and jingled it. "Thank you," she added.

Eomer nodded at her.

There was a long pause, then he glanced at the door and sighed deeply. "I must go," he said with a hint of regret in his voice.

Charlotte bit her lip. She really didn't like having to say goodbye to him; she wondered if this was how the wives of the riders felt every time they went out on patrol. "Stay safe," she said softly. It seemed to be the best way to express her feelings.

"I will." He came out from behind the desk to stand in front of her, looking down at her with an inscrutable look in his hazel eyes. "I'd ask a favour of you in turn though."

She gestured for him to go on.

"When you first arrived here you promised that you wouldn't go beyond the walls of Aldburg except to go to the training yard. I would remind you of that promise, but I would also ask that Bryde will always accompany you and that you carry your knife with you at all times."

Charlotte blinked up at him, surprised by the intensity in his voice.

"Additionally," Eomer continued, "I know that you have the household well in hand, but should anyone from Edoras arrive if I am not here then you will defer to Maudig or Eothain. On no account will you deal with them yourself. Do you understand?"

"I understand." She thought of the conversation she'd overheard as she entered the study - it had sounded like they had been lucky to miss Grima Wormtongue at Aldburg and she well understood the danger there.

There was another long pause as they looked at each other, then Charlotte went up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He still smelled of horse and stale sweat after their journey, but she didn't care. He embraced her in response, his hands firm and heavy on her lower back and his nose buried in her damp hair. They lingered in that position for several long seconds.

She eventually released him, placing her hands on his breastplate, but he still held her loosely in the circle of his arms. She smiled as best she could up at him. "Abeodan, Eomer," she said softly.

That drew a small smile from him. "Your Rohirric is coming along," he said warmly. He pulled her closer to press a lingering kiss to the middle of her forehead; her eyes drifted closed at the feeling of his lips and the slight scratch of his beard against her skin. "Abeodan, Charlotte," he said softly in turn. He then released her with reluctance and left the study without a backwards glance.

Charlotte sat down on the chair behind the desk with a sigh, listening to the sound of the riders mustering in the courtyard below and Eomer's distant shout for them to mount up. Once she heard the hooves fading away she reluctantly pulled one of the books towards her, thinking of getting started on putting the rents into the treasury ledger or maybe going down to check on the stores and do an inventory since there had been several market days since she had been away.

Only a couple of minutes later, she put down the quill with a frustrated sound. She felt listless, finding it impossible to sit down and do anything productive. She pushed the treasury ledger away and got to her feet.

She wandered slowly down the corridor, towards Eomer's chambers, the door still open as she had left it. Entering the chamber once more, she dipped a hand in the rapidly cooling bathwater and meandered around the room. She took the time to look at the hangings once more, noting both the skill of the needlework and how old and faded they were, and then she sat down on the bed.

She had left her cloak there, so she bundled it up in her hands and buried her face in it. It needed a wash, but the feel of the wolf fur on her cheeks just made her think back to the forest of Firien, where she had been attacked and he had saved her; it made her think of how he had carried her back to the wagon and tucked her in among the furs after she had fallen asleep on his shoulder.

Her feelings for him were undeniable, but what truly frightened her was the fact that she could tell that he cared for her deeply in turn. The way he looked at her positively thrilled her at times, whilst at the same time filling her with guilt and trepidation.

But should she feel guilty for her feelings when, as far as she knew, he had not even met Lothiriel yet?

Beyond that, the story she knew seemed to be unfolding at a rapid pace with Wormtongue's increased influence in Rohan and the attacks from Isengard.

She knew what would happen, but also had little idea as to _when_ events would occur - for all she knew, it could be days, weeks or even months before Theodred's death, Eomer's arrest, and the arrival of Gandalf once more.

She had told Gandalf that she understood that she couldn't change events - but how was she supposed to sit and watch as a country and a people that she was coming to love was brought to the very brink of destruction around her?

Yet another sigh passed her lips as she lay back on the furs and blankets of Eomer's bed.

Truly, she did not know what to do.

* * *

The next day found Charlotte hastening after Dernhild's long strides while she carried one of her twins awkwardly in her arms. She had mentioned the need for a dress for Hollantide to Eothain's wife that morning and was promptly handed a baby and chivvied out of the door of the hall in search of the seamstress.

"Do you have a preference for what kind of dress you'd wish for?" Dernhild asked, all business as she marched down the cobbled street, the other twin secured in a simple cloth sling across her back.

"Not really," Charlotte confessed, puffing slightly. She was more than a little tired and grumpy. She hadn't slept well the previous night with Eomer's departure and her swirling thoughts despite being in a proper bed again. "Eomer said I needed something finer than the ones I already have. He said I was going to be a cupbearer."

"Did he now?" Dernhild said with an expression of deep surprise. She pressed her lips together in a smile. "Well!"

"Well what?" Charlotte demanded, hurrying to keep up. Dernhild didn't reply and Charlotte broke into a trot, wrapping her arms tighter around the baby she carried so that it didn't get jostled. "_Well what?"_

Dernhild chuckled at her agitation. "Suffice to say that I doubt any of the riders will be making drunken advances towards you," she told her, still clearly amused. "Eomer has offered the cup of welcome himself in previous years, the last lady to act as cupbearer in Aldburg was Theodwyn herself, his mother."

Charlotte was staggered by this revelation. "What … but … he …" she stammered, unable to articulate her confused thoughts. She swallowed hard. What on Earth had she agreed to here? "Does it, you know ... _mean_ anything?"

Dernhild took pity on her. "It is no binding commitment or any such like, if that is what you are thinking," she told her, but then raised brows ever so slightly as she shook her head. "... But if you ask me, he could scarcely make his intentions towards you plainer."

"But …" she said, still bewildered by the revelations as well as her own feelings - it was a curious sensation to have her heart rising in her chest in happiness while her stomach sunk in anxiety at the same time.

Dernhild, however, simply clucked her tongue at her. "Come along," she ordered, and Charlotte was left trailing along in her wake.

The seamstress they visited down in Aldburg had limited Westron so Dernhild did a lot of the talking in Rohirric while Charlotte looked curiously at the bolts of material. Many of them were cotton and dyed in a variety of colours, though greens and browns seemed the prevalent colours on offer.

The seamstress was happily showing Dernhild the few bolts of silk that she had, but Eothain's wife shook her head, unimpressed. Charlotte caught the words _hlaefdige_, _Halford Eomer, _and _faetfyllere_ and the woman promptly got very excited. She vanished into the back of the shop and emerged moments later with a bolt of material that was a bright, poppy red, richly embroidered all over with simple white and gold flowers that linked with delicate stems and leaves.

Charlotte ran a hand over the intricate embroidery while the woman chattered to Dernhild, marvelling at the rich, yet subtle design. "It's beautiful," she said quietly.

"It is …" Dernhild agreed, also touching the material as she listened to the seamstress. "She says she bought this from traders coming down from the North several years ago, supposedly it came from the Dwarves in the Blue Mountains, a fine specimen of _bleocraeft_, embroidery." She sounded very satisfied at the find. She then clapped her hands impatiently, gesturing for her to step up onto the seamstresses stool. "Come on now, up with you, let's get you measured."

* * *

Two days later saw the arrival of wagons making their way up the West Road, causing the small town to buzz with excitement. It was a band of traders heading North, bringing bounty from the South with them, the very same traders who travelled as far North as the Dwarf colonies in the Blue Mountains that the seamstress had got her fabric from. Apparently they came every year, stocking up on things like furs, wool, amber, tobacco, barley and oats whilst in the North before they made their way back down South again.

Annwyn was thrilled at their arrival; she was looking for material to make her wedding dress and hoped to find something more than what was stocked in the local seamstress's stores. She and Charlotte headed down where the traders had set up their camp beside the training yard on the outskirts of the town once Charlotte had finished with Raefen for the day.

"What are weddings like here?" Charlotte asked the other young woman as they left the town, Bryde following them a little behind to act as escort.

Annwyn grinned at her, her blond Rohirric hair shining like wheat in the cool, autumn sun. "Why do you want to know?" she asked in turn, giving Charlotte a sly look.

Charlotte shrugged, brushing off the pointedness of her question; after Dernhild's comments she had no desire to lead the discussion in any direction linked to her. "Just curious," she replied in the lightest voice she could manage.

"Well, first there is a betrothal gift from the man, traditionally horses if they can be afforded. Then before the wedding itself my family will give the _brydgifu_, the dowry, whereas Aldhelm gives my family a _handgeld_ to compensate them for losing me," Annwyn explained. "The two are exchanged and we give vows. After that there is feasting and dancing - my lord Eomer has said he will allow us the use of the hall for that," she added in excitement, followed by a blush creeping up her cheeks. "Then the next day, after … Well, Aldhelm will present me with a _morgengifu_, a morning gift."

"I see." Charlotte smiled a little at the other girl's embarrassment as they walked through the traders, looking for the fabric stall and nodding to people as they shouted their wares. There were probably around two dozen wagons, many of them intricately decorated, reminding her a little of Romani caravans.

"Is it very different where you come from?" Annwyn asked in turn.

"Not very different, no, though typically a man gives a woman a ring when he asks her to marry him." Charlotte thought she could tell that much without revealing her otherworldly origins. Nevertheless, she decided to change the subject away from her once more. "What about your dress?"

"People tend to wear their best clothes, but Mama has promised me a new one," Annwyn said with satisfaction. "She has given me money for the material and we will make it ourselves." She suddenly pointed excitedly to a wagon with double doors open at the back, revealing bolts of material inside, and more out on display on the grass as well. "Look, here is the stall."

Unlike the largely homespun, simply dyed cottons that the seamstress in Aldburg stocked, this wagon carried bolts of silks, linens, and a veritable rainbow of cottons. Charlotte also looked at what was on offer with curiosity. While there were many beautiful colours, she didn't find anything she liked so much as the bleocraeft material for her own dress.

Annwyn quickly fell in love with a light, sky blue silk but was dismayed when she asked the trader how much it was, unable to haggle down. She eventually settled on cheaper midnight blue linen that complemented her golden colouring and yet was a rarer colour in the Riddermark than the common greens and browns. With the money she saved she was also able to buy some braided, silver ribbon to trim the dress with.

Satisfied with her purchases, the two of them explored the rest of the makeshift market with Bryde still trailing behind them. The offerings were extensive and Charlotte was fascinated by this glimpse of the Southern parts of Middle Earth. There was pottery, jewelry, and spices on offer, even a small, brightly coloured songbird she didn't recognise chirping sweetly in a cage.

Along with produce, the traders also had news: they spoke in hushed voices of the growing darkness in the East, of tensions between the Haradrim and the Easterlings and violent eruptions from the Mountain of Fire within the heart of Mordor that caused the earth to shake as far away as Minas Tirith.

None of it was particularly surprising to her.

They were nearing the last of the wagons, with Bryde obligingly carrying the bolt of cloth for Annwyn, when Charlotte saw something that excited her - a flash of bright yellow, lemons from the South. "Look, look at these," she said, hurrying towards a stall that held numerous fruits and spices.

"What are they?" Annwyn watched as Charlotte took one of the lemons to inhale its scent.

"Lemons." Charlotte passed one of them to her from the basket to smell as well.

"You know this fruit, lady?" the trader, a middle aged man with greying hair asked with a smile, no doubt sensing a potential sale.

"I do," she admitted. She glanced around at some of the other produce on offer - dried pomegranate seeds, saffron, tarragon, and a small bottle of viscous brown liquid with thin, dark pods in it which, when she opened it to sniff it, proved to be vanilla.

The sweet scent of the oil struck her; her grandmother had given her a perfume of vanilla every Christmas, but after she had died some years ago Charlotte never bought more for herself. It reminded her of her grandparents, of baking with her friends, of the world she came from.

"Are they very sweet?" Annwyn asked, still smelling one of the lemons with great interest.

"No, not at all, ridiculously sour." Shaken from her thoughts, she put the little bottle back down.

"Then why do you like them so?" Annwyn looked a little confused.

"Well they are lovely in drinks or cakes, they are even used to make jam -" She stopped, thinking quickly.

She had plenty of Eomer's money left and she remembered a late summer afternoon from the previous year when she and one of her health-conscious university housemates had spent the day making jam from a sugar free recipe, consisting of just fruit, honey, and lemon juice.

"Annwyn, how much honey is there to be had around here, do you think?" she asked.

Annwyn blinked in surprise at the question, confused at the apparent change of subject. "Plenty, I should imagine."

"Aye, lots of farms keep hives over the summer," Bryde added.

Charlotte grinned and turned to the trader. "How much?"

"For a lady as fair as you, ten of your riddermark coppers for one of these jewels from the South," he replied with a large smile, clearly pleased at the idea of selling them.

"Ten coppers for a piece of fruit!" Annwyn said, scandalised - Charlotte could well understand why. It was an extortionate price compared to the apples, pears and plums that could be bought at the regular bi-weekly market in Aldburg.

"Hmm …" She thought back to the value of the coins that Eomer had told her several weeks ago; sixty coppers to a silver and twelve silvers for a gold. She counted the lemons. There were seventeen of them in the basket. She did some quick maths in her head. "How about the whole basket for two silvers?"

The trader raised his eyebrows, but could not quite hide the glint in his eye. "Three," he shot back instantly, actually raising his price higher than he had initially quoted.

"Ha, you said one lemon for ten coppers, so it'll be two silvers," she replied firmly. The man was trying to bilk her and she would not stand for it. She glanced down at the rest of the offerings. "Though if you want three then I'll be having that vanilla bottle as well."

It was the traders turn to look scandalised. "This came all the way from Harad!" He looked at her with wide eyes.

Charlotte was unimpressed. "And do you really expect to get a better offer for it?" She raised a single brow at him; from what she had seen of the Rohirrim so far, she doubted many of them would be overly interested in much of the produce he was selling, though he may well be able to sell it further in the North.

The trader looked at her for a long moment, and then laughed. "You drive a hard bargain, lady." This sounded like a compliment. "Very well, three silvers for the lemons and the vanilla syrup." He looked satisfied with the deal.

She paid him with a smile of her own. Annwyn took the little bottle while Charlotte carried the basket of lemons.

"What are they?" Annwyn held the bottle up to the sunlight to look at the pods fermenting in the alcohol. "They are such ugly little things."

"Vanilla pods. You can smell it if you like." Charlotte nodded to the bottle; Annwyn did so, closing her eyes as she inhaled the sweet, creamy scent. "I used to wear a perfume made from them."

"A perfume from Harad!" The other girl sounded highly impressed. "However did you get such a thing all the way in Lake Town?"

"Well …" Charlotte realised she had made a blunder given how far Lake Town and Harad were. "Traders come from all over."

"Hmm, I suppose they come up the Anduin," Annwyn said, much to Charlotte's relief. "What do you intend to do with the lemons?"

Charlotte smiled, thinking of the numerous blackberries practically dripping from the bushes when they had been out collecting the rents, ones that Eomer said just went to waste.

"I was going to employ every boy and girl in Aldburg to go blackberry picking before they all spoil. Then we are going to make jam."

* * *

It was very late at night, closer to early in the morning, when Eomer and his eored, cold and wet, returned from their patrol. They had dealt with the last of the Urks that had spread across the plains from Isengard and were now glad to be back.

Not wanting to disturb anyone at the late hour, the riders were quiet as they saw to their horses and headed towards the barracks, all of them eager to change into dry clothing and sleep. Eomer was alone as he headed to the hall, expecting to find it dark, still, and silent at this time of night.

A faint light in the hall caught his eye on his way towards the stairs. He pushed open the door to investigate and a small smile cracked his mouth at the sight before him.

Charlotte was asleep at one of the tables, her head pillowed on an open book in front of her. No doubt she had been updating the treasury and household ledger after having collected the rents. He knew from experience how many long and gruelling hours that took to record. She was surrounded by ledgers, papers, quills and inkwells, a half-drunk and cold mug of tea, and an almost burnt out candle flickering at her elbow. Curiously, there were also several dozen earthenware jars on the table next to her as well, sealed with cloth and string.

Keeping his footsteps soft, Eomer approached her. She still had a quill held loosely in her hand, the ink staining her fingers black in a way he found oddly charming; he plucked the quill from her fingers and replaced it in one of the ink pots. He tilted his head to look at the papers in front of her.

He frowned - it was not the ledgers she had been working on after all, but rather a roughly drawn map of the East-Mark that she appeared to have done herself along with a census. She had painstakingly recorded things like the population in each village, the produce they had, trades practiced, and even food quantities. The sheer level of detail was astonishing and such information would no doubt prove useful.

His gaze moved from the papers to her, drinking in the sight of her after his absence. Her long lashes, so much darker than her coppery hair, brushed her cheeks as she slept with slightly parted lips. She was wearing a simple white nightgown that was too large for her, probably given to her by Maudig when she had arrived. It had slipped down one shoulder, exposing the narrow, royal blue strap of her otherworldly breast band. The thin, cotton fabric of the nightgown was translucent in the flickering light of the fire, revealing the alluring curve of her hip and waist beneath.

He reached a hand towards her, wanting to pick her up in his arms and carry her upstairs, but then paused. He was still in his armour and soaked from the autumn rains that were prevalent outside, he could not move her without getting her wet as well.

He sighed and picked up one of the jars instead, moving around the table to warm himself by the central hearth fire. One of the deerhounds sleeping by the fire raised its head and whined in greeting at him, thumping its tail. He absentmindedly rubbed it around the ears with his free hand, then moved to build up the dying fire.

The sound must have roused her. He heard her take a deep breath and the rustle of papers as she raised her head; turning, he saw her blinking sleepily at him. She smiled through her haze of sleep. "You're back." She sounded relieved.

"Aye," he replied softly, moving away from the fire and coming to sit opposite her at the table, the jar still in his hand.

"How was it?" She stifled a yawn and then rubbed her eyes, inadvertently sending a single smear of ink arching over her cheek. He couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he replied. He had no wish to tell her of the blood and gore of the past few days, not while they sat in the peace and calm of the hall. He nodded down towards the papers in front of her. "I see you've been busy."

"Just a little project," she demurred as she started to organise them back into piles.

"It looks to be more than that." Eomer watched her as she sorted the papers. He hefted the jar in his hand and gestured to the rest of them piled at the end of the table - there had to be close to a hundred of them. "And these?"

"Blackberry and apple jam," Charlotte replied with a smile up at him. "I was thinking about all of those blackberries just falling from the bushes that we saw while we were collecting the rents. I found lemons in the market and remembered a recipe. They are not difficult to preserve and will keep for months."

He heard the curious passion in her voice. "This is important to you, isn't it?" He tilted his head to look at her with a faint frown creasing his brow.

"I …" she said hesitantly, then she shrugged ever so slightly. "It just doesn't make sense to leave food to go to waste when winter is coming."

He nodded slowly. "Quite right," he agreed, wondering if there was more to this than she was letting on.

She smiled again, still looking sleepy. "I bought far too many lemons though. I thought I'd need more than I did." She yawned, scarcely managing to cover her mouth with her hand. "Still, lemon juice is good for cleaning and things," she added, her voice almost lost in the yawn.

His mouth twitched in response to her distorted words. "Come, off to bed with you," he ordered, getting to his feet and picking up the almost burned-out candle.

"Are you coming too?" she asked guilelessly; he blinked in response and she visibly blushed in the low light, clearly realising what she had said. "That is, are you -"

"Aye," he said, his voice rasping slightly.

He helped her gather up the books and papers and together. Wordlessly, they left the hall and took them up to the study. Once they put everything back where it belonged, he escorted her to the door of her room. She turned in the doorway, wrapping her arms around herself as she looked up at him. "I'm ... glad you're home." She gave him a small smile.

Eomer looked at her for a long moment; she seemed so small, scarcely clearing his shoulder as she stood before him in her simple white nightgown, her hair tumbling and tousled around her shoulders. The light from the flickering candle he held cast her cheeks in a rosy glow and caught in her hair.

He wondered if she knew how utterly desirable she was, especially when she called Aldburg _home_.

"Me too," he replied quietly, briefly reaching out to touch the backs of his fingers to her ink-smudged cheek.

Slowly, almost reluctantly it seemed, she closed her bedroom door behind her and he returned to his own chambers. It took him scant minutes to shed his armour and clothing. He climbed into his bed for the first time in nearly three weeks and exhaled a deep breath as he relaxed into the furs. Lying on his back and staring up at the carved beams of the ceiling, he reached out his arms, his fingertips scarcely even touching the edges of the huge bed.

It was not a bed designed to be slept in alone, and he only wished that Charlotte was already there with him.

* * *

The following morning Charlotte headed downstairs and into the hall. She was surprised to find it near on deserted despite the riders returning the previous night. After a hasty breakfast - fresh bread served with some of the blackberry and apple jam they had made and a cup of tea - she headed down to the stables to see Raefen.

She was further surprised to see Firefoot's stall at the end of the stable stood empty, his tack also missing.

Frowning, Charlotte headed straight back inside and into the kitchens, where Maudig was kneading another batch of bread. "Do you know where Eomer is?" She kept her voice as casual as possible.

Maudig sighed gustily and shook her head. "He took a company of men and left at first light," she said, sounding vaguely disapproving.

"Oh." Charlotte felt slightly disheartened that he had left so soon after arriving without saying anything to her. "Did he say when he would be back?"

"Nay," Maudig said, shaking her head once more as she worked her hands over the stiff dough. "I canna imagine what they are doing."

Charlotte nodded slowly, a frown on her face. She then made herself a fresh cup of tea. "I'm going to groom Raefen and take her down to the paddock, after that I'll be upstairs doing the books if you need me," she reported, and the older woman waved her out of the kitchen.

It was mid-afternoon when her work on the books was interrupted by the sound of horses in the courtyard, quickly followed by pounding feet up the stairs and down the corridor, making her jerk her head up.

"Charlotte! Charlotte!" Annwyn's voice shouted, bursting into the study with the force of a small hurricane and panting from her exertion.

"What's wrong?" Charlotte demanded, leaping out of the chair in alarm and dashing around the desk - a hundred terrifying possible scenarios, many of them involving Eomer being injured in some way, flashed through her mind. "What is it?"

"You'll never guess!" Annwyn grinned - she was laughing through her panting breaths. Charlotte's alarm was replaced with highly bemused curiosity. Annwyn beckoned her quickly, already half way back out of the door. "Come on, come and see!"

Following her down the stairs, she was surprised to see Eomer and nearly a dozen of his riders carrying numerous small, roughhewn sacks into the hall. Several of the sacks had already spilled open onto the tables, revealing mounds upon mounds of blackberries.

Halas spotted her standing in the doorway with her jaw agape and hollered to the rest of the riders. She was greeted with a sea of proud boyish grins as they saw her. She caught Eomer's eye - he was smiling brightly, his hands, along with everyone else's, scratched from the thorns and stained black from the berries.

"You'd best get those cooking pots out again, lass!" Winfred shouted, much to the laughter of others.

"I …" Charlotte was absolutley staggered by the sight of so many berries - easily double what the children of Aldburg had brought her - while Annwyn giggled behind her. "We're going to need more jars," she said weakly.

Before long the kitchens of the hall was bustling with people chopping apples, mushing berries and stirring the vast pot over the fires. Meanwhile others were filling practically any container they could find and sealing them with cloth and string.

Charlotte approached Eomer, who was helping one of Devan's young daughters put berries in the boiling pots.

"Thank you," she said quietly with a smile.

"Thank _you_," he retorted, his voice earnest as he looked around at the busyness of the kitchens. "You were right. It does not make sense to waste any food if there are to be hard times ahead. The frosts are near upon us. These berries would have spoiled if not put to use."

"We have so many." She looked around with deep satisfaction; along with all the jam they were making, it was lovely to see everyone talking and laughing together as they worked. "I imagine we will have several blackberry dishes for Hollantide."

"I doubt people will mind," he assured her, pausing only to help the little girl add some more berries to the pot. He straightened. "Besides, I've always had a fondness for blackberries - or bremelberies, as we call them."

"Bremelberies," she repeated, rolling the word around her tongue.

"Aye." Eomer offered a particularly large plump berry that he held between his juice-stained fingers up to her. She went to take it from him - he drew it back ever so slightly and tsked at her, nodding towards her mouth instead. Fighting a smile, she obediently parted her lips; he popped the berry between them, seemingly purposefully touching her mouth as he did so.

His eyes were fixed on her mouth and, feeling a warm flush fill her cheeks, she dropped her gaze and bought her fingers up to touch her lips.

"Are you looking forward to Hollantide?" Eomer asked as if he hadn't just sent her heart fluttering or her lower stomach clenching.

"Of course." Her face fell into an ever so slight frown. "I have a bone to pick with you about it though."

"Oh?" He raised one of his straight, stern brows.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "Dernhild said that a cupbearer was important, and - and that the last lady to do it was your mother and I -"

"Charlotte," he interrupted, his voice soothing and firm. "You are a lady of this house, a hlaefdige, and under my protection. No one will question your right to be cupbearer."

That was not entirely what she had meant; she was worried about raising certain expectations, both his and his peoples, knowing that she would have to return to her own world, but found that she couldn't get the words out.

Instead, she gave a forced smile and nodded.

Eomer smiled in response, not seeming to notice her troubled mind. "I fully expect the first dance with you," he said lightly.

She laughed at this; it had not been a question, but rather a high-handed statement of how he wanted the world to be. "Is that a request?" she said pointedly.

He caught her hand in his own and raised it to his lips. "If you wish, min tannan." He pressed a kiss to her juice-stained knuckles, holding her eyes as he did so, his expression very warm.

"Will you tell me what that means?" she asked breathlessly - it had become something of a game between them, she would ask and he would refuse to tell her.

Sure enough, "Not yet," he responded.

Charlotte heaved a faux-disappointed sigh. "You know, I asked a smith that spoke a little Westron in one of the villages we passed through and he started talking about fish and nets of all things." The bewilderment she had felt at the time coloured her tone even now.

Unsurprisingly, Eomer's loud laughter rang out around the hall and he chucked her fondly under the chin, smearing her skin with the juice from his hands.

* * *

Oblivious to the people around them, they were unknowingly giving the people of Aldburg who were helping to make the jam a very cheerful impression of their usually stern, dour lord and the foreign lady who had turned his head. People shared small smiles as they watched the couple.

In the corner, busy chopping apples, Hollis shook her head. "Absolutely besotted, the both of them," she said, watching as Eomer fondly chucked Charlotte under the chin, smearing her skin with the juice from his hands, followed by Charlotte laughing and batting his hand away, using the bottom of the apron she had wrapped around her waist to clean her face. "They're like a pair of teenagers."

"Aye, but she's a fine, clever girl though," Maudig commented, also looking fondly at the pair. "She's good for him. 'Tis good to see him smile."

"She was asking me about wedding customs in the Riddermark the other day," Annwyn contributed with a grin of her own, her voice rather sly.

"Was she now?" Hollis said, raising her brows even higher.

Maudig sighed happily, looking for all the world like a proud grandmother. "Aye, we'll be having a wedding here at Aldburg in less than two months, if ye ask me," she declared contentedly as they watched the pair help Devan's little girl with stirring the large pot, looking for all the world like they could be a family.

* * *

**Big thank you once again for BlackAquoKat for betaing for me - and on a very tight turn around too, she got it back to me in less than 24 hours so that I could post before going away on holiday, since I am off to Albania tomorrow, whoop whoop!**

**Leave a review, my darlings :)**


	11. Hollantide

**Chapter 11 - Hollantide**

* * *

"_**Winter byð cealdost,  
lencten hrimigost, he byð lengest ceald;  
sumor sunwlitegost, swegel byð hatost,  
hærfest hreðeadegost, hæleðum bringeð  
geres wæstmas."**_

__"_Winter is coldest,  
spring frostiest, it is the longest cold;  
summer sun-fairest, the sun is hottest,  
harvest is most glory-blessed, it brings to men the year's fruits."_

_Maxims II_

* * *

With the autumn rents collected and the harvest gathered in, something which every man, woman and child in Aldburg had gone out to the fields to help with until the storerooms were full to bursting, it was time to celebrate Hollantide.

Charlotte stood before the tarnished, coppery mirror in Eowyn's room, smoothing down the material of her embroidered red dress. The seamstress of Aldburg had definitely shown her skill; the design of the dress was relatively simple, the richly embroidered material needed no adornment, but the gold braided laces at the back pulled the dress in, causing it to lovingly hug the curves of her waist and hips.

Maudig helped her with the laces, clucking the whole time over how lovely the dress was. The old cook was also dressed in her finest clothes, an old dress of dark blue that she had a clean white apron over, and her long, grey hair had been braided and pulled back from her face. Maudig assisted Charlotte with her own hair as well, pulling the coppery curls back and securing them in a small, gold net at the base of her neck in a way that reminded her of Renaissance women.

"Ah, ye look beautiful lass." Maudig fondly tucked a stray red curl behind her ear. "Positively alfsciene," she added, slipping in to Rohirric

"What does that mean?" Charlotte asked curiously, recognising the word and remembering Eomer calling her _min alfsciene hlaefdige_ when he had woken up in the stables near the beacon.

"Elf-like, radiant," the old cook explained, smiling and making Charlotte blink in surprise at the translation. Maudig met her eyes in the mirror over her shoulder, her expression very warm, and Charlotte was reminded, not for the first time, of her grandmother, who had died a few years previously. "I'm very proud of ye, child. Ye'll be a fine cupbearer tonight."

"I'm a little nervous," she admitted, smoothing the her hands over the skirt once more.

"Tush, you'll be fine," Maudig promised soothingly. "Ye've got the words down right, all else ye need to do is smile."

"Westhu hal," Charlotte said into the mirror, practicing the words; she was told that it was simply a hail, a greeting that essentially meant good health.

"Quite right." Maudig adjusted one last curl and then pinched her cheek. "Now, off with ye, child. Enjoy this night."

Determined to do just that, Charlotte dabbed a small amount of the vanilla that she had bought from the market and mixed with nut oil on her wrists and neck as a finishing touch and then headed down the stairs.

The great double doors to the hall were not yet open but Eomer was already down in the entryway, no doubt waiting for her. He was finely dressed in black breeches and a dark, emerald green tunic that was richly embroidered with gold, white and red thread at the open collar. His hair was clean and combed; he had pulled the top part back from his forehead and secured it in a simple braid at the back, leaving the rest hanging loose around his shoulders, still damp from his bath.

No doubt hearing her approach, Eomer turned and watched her descend the stairs. His gaze travelled upwards from the hem of her red dress, lingering on her hips, waist and breasts, before reaching her eyes. He smiled slowly at her, a smile she could not help but return.

Taking a deep breath at the intensity of his look, she reached the bottom of the stairs and picked up the filled, golden goblet that was waiting for her on a low table. She approached and stood before him. "Westhu hal, min halford," she said formally, offering the goblet with both hands.

He took it, purposefully brushing her fingers with his as he did so. "Westhu hal, min hlaefdige," he said in response, his voice deep and rumbling. He took a sip of the sweet, honey mead within, his gaze never leaving hers.

She took the ornately carved goblet back with a smile and put it on the low table. "Well?" she asked, gesturing down at the dress she wore and breaking the curiously formal moment between them.

His gaze lazily travelled down her body once more at the invitation. "It is very becoming on you," he said sincerely as his eyes returned to hers. "There is one thing though …" Reaching out, he carefully, one by one, removed the hair pins that secured the gold net, sending her red curls tumbling haphazardly around her shoulders and down her back.

"Maudig worked hard on that," she chided him, though the laughter in her voice gave away her lack of annoyance.

"She doesn't mind," Eomer said, casting a small wink over her shoulder to where Maudig was descending the stairs also, tutting goodnaturedly at his actions. He turned back to face Charlotte. "Besides, now you are perfect," he said, the note of deep satisfaction in his voice making her catch her breath.

"You don't scrub up too badly yourself," she replied honestly, unable to help herself from reaching out and adjusting the collar of his tunic. "Not even the faintest whiff of horse about you," she added with a grin.

Eomer laughed, his eyes bright and twinkling. "Give it time, I may slip off to the stables midway through the evening."

"Why am I not surprised?" she said, her wide smile lingering. "Shall we?" she asked, nodding her head towards the door.

Eomer formally offered his arm; she took it and, goblet in hand, they headed to open the doors of the hall.

What followed was nearly an hour of greeting people as they entered the hall. Eomer greeted all of them by name, speaking to them easily and familiarly, followed by Charlotte offering the goblet and the traditional words of welcome. The riders that she knew and travelled with all gave her wide smiles as well as their head nods and formal words of response, meanwhile Maudig hovered in the background with a large jug, ready to replenish the mead in the goblet whenever was required.

She smiled brightly at those she knew and considered to be her friends, yet gave equally warm smiles to those that she did not know. All were friendly and kind to her in turn, with no one commenting on her role as cupbearer. It was apparent that she was well liked among the Rohirrim, despite her foreign origins. The people of Rohan were true, honest and welcoming - really, it was no surprise that she had come to love it here.

Eventually, once the flood of guests had ebbed to a trickle, they entered the bustling hall themselves. It was filled to the brim with people talking and laughing. They were sat at tables that were already laden with food and were milling about between the pillars with tankards in hand. Up on the balcony were numerous musicians; the sound of fiddles and flutes weaved its way among the lively conversations.

Eomer lead her up past the huge boar that had been turning on a spit over the hearth fire for hours towards two empty seats at the middle of the rarely used top table. There were plenty of people that she knew at the high table; Eothain, Dernhild, Devan and his family among them. He pulled out the chair for her, guiding her into it, before banging an empty tankard several times on the table to draw everyone's attention.

The people quickly fell quiet, all eyes turned to them; Eomer, remaining standing, took the golden goblet of welcome from her once more and turned to his people. "Tonight we celebrate our harvest," he said in a loud, clear voice that carried throughout the hall. "Bema has blessed us and we have had a bountiful summer, but autumn is waning, winter is nearly upon us and now the nights are closing in." The people in the hall were rapt, listening to his words, many of them nodding. "We will keep the darkness at bay with the warmth of our hearths and the strength of our bodies. And so, friends, I invite you to share in the food and drink here tonight." He raised the goblet high. "Hail, Rohirrim!"

"Hail!" people shouted back, lifting their own drinks in turn. Eomer drained the goblet to wide applause. The music and conversation started up again as he sat down.

"Very good," Eothain said, leaning around Charlotte to address him. "Short and sweet."

"Leaves more time for drinking," Eomer responded merrily as he filled a simple tankard with ale from a jug in the middle of the table and started to serve up food on to both his and Charlotte's plates, clearly in fine spirits this evening.

The food was by far the finest fare they'd had since her arrival in Rohan, the tables positively groaning with how heavily they were ladened. There were game dishes of pheasant, rabbit and pigeon all served with generous amounts of blackberry sauce, venison, roasted boar from the spit over the hearth served with bread and stuffing and bowls upon bowls of vegetables roasted in butter or honey.

There was little formality despite it being a celebration, once people had finished main course the sweet dishes (cheeses, apple pies, blackberry crumble, honey cakes and delectable mixed spice biscuits) were simply placed in any space that could be found and so the food and drink continued to flow.

Charlotte had her hands wrapped around an earthenware mug of sweet, hot red wine that had been mixed with spices, cloves and honey while she talked and laughed with the people around her. Her heart felt impossibly light and she wondered briefly if she had ever felt more content than she did in that moment; her stomach was filled with good food, her hands warmed by mulled wine, her dress was beautiful, the company was merry and Eomer's arm was around the back of her chair as he leaned around her to talk to Eothain while she and Dernhild continued a lively conversation.

After a while she resumed her duties as cupbearer, moving around the hall and greeting those that she hadn't seen yet. It was slow going since she was often drawn into long, cheerful conversations with people she knew around the hall, though no one seemed to mind.

Eventually Eomer caught up with her once more. "Look," he said with a smile, guiding her over to where a group of riders were gathered around several barrels of ale in a loose circle.

One of the riders stood, raising his tankard. "Here's to a long life and a happy one, a quick death and an easy one, a pretty woman and an honest one … a large ale and another one!" he said loudly; the men cheered in response and all took heavy pulls from their drinks.

"What is it?" she asked curiously, watching them.

"A game of toasts, I suppose you'd call it," Eomer explained as another rider got to his feet. "Later it will likely dissolve into simply who can drink the most, but for now someone proposes a toast, if it is liked then everyone drinks, but if it is not liked then that person has to drink."

The rider, who already seemed well on the way to being intoxicated, raised his tankard high. "May Bema keep the wargs in the hills and the women in our beds!" he roared loudly, making the other men hoot and bang their tankards against the table in approval.

"Why do I get the impression that all of the toasts are liked?" Charlotte asked wryly, watching as the group drunk deeply once more.

"Probably because you've lived among the Rohirrim for some weeks now," Eomer retorted with an easy grin of his own.

"My lord," one of the men said somewhat tipsily, holding a full tankard out towards them. The men were all watching him expectantly and she quickly realised that he was expected to take a turn.

Eomer immediately took the tankard and raised it to the group. "Here's to women and horses …" he paused and then tipped the men a roguish wink. "And the men who ride them!" he added to great approval, the men laughing, clapping and banging their fists on the table as their lord and marshal raised the tankard to his mouth and proceeded to drain the whole thing.

Charlotte, laughing and shaking her head in bemusement at the antics, was also handed a slightly smaller tankard. "M'lady," the same rider said pointedly, giving her a slightly ironic bow while the riders looked on, some clearly thinking that she would demure and hand the drink back.

Not one to back down from a challenge and knowing several good toasts from nights out at various societies she had been part of in Oxford, she passed Eomer the meadcup and obediently lifted the tankard to the men. "Here is to cheating, stealing, lying and drinking," she said loudly and clearly; the men glanced at each other in confusion, but she wasn't done yet. "If you must cheat, cheat death; if you must steal, steal sorrows; if you must lie, lie with a woman … and if you must drink, then drink with me," she added with a proud flourish.

The men laughed and clapped their approval, but that quickly built to loud cheers as she too raised the tankard to her lips and proceeded to drink the entire thing down. Once the cup was empty she held it upside down to prove that she had finished and the men banged their tankards on the table.

"Very well done," Eomer said approvingly in her ear, the smile evident in his voice. "I've not heard that one before."

Charlotte grinned at him, already feeling slightly light-headed from the wine and the ale she'd drunk so far that evening. "I've done my fair share of toasts and drinking games."

"Don't let them hear that," Eomer said conspiratorially, taking her arm and spiriting her away from the riders. "They'll not let you leave that table and you promised me the first dance."

"Did I now?" she asked innocently, looking pointedly at him as he towed her through the crowds of people. "I seem to remember that you simply stated that it would be so."

"Aye, but you'll not make a liar out of me," he retorted, pulling her to the middle of the hall. He gestured to the musicians on the balcony around the hall and the music instantly shifted to a lively jig; the people around them clapped excitedly and started to clear a makeshift dance floor, lining up with the men on one side and the women on the other.

"Eomer!" Charlotte hissed in alarm, realising that they were lining up in what was clearly a predetermined pattern. "I don't know these dances!"

"It's easy, follow my lead," Eomer said reassuringly as the music built and people found their places. "Ready?"

Charlotte opened her mouth to say an emphatic _no_ but suddenly the music swelled and quickened. Her hands were seized by Eomer and he spun her round and round before dragging her to a halt and clapping his hands against hers to the beat of the music. She was then tugged into a circle of several people and they joined hands to sidestep quickly around before the men seized the women around the waist, lifting them high in the air to loud applause from the people watching from the sidelines.

For the first minute or two she stumbled and tripped her way around, missing most of the steps, spins and hand claps that she was supposed to be doing and banging into people as she made the wrong turns though.

Eventually she started to recognise and anticipate the repeated steps and started to laugh as she was whirled around the dancefloor, positively glowing with happiness as she was picked up with Eomer's large hands around her waist once more.

* * *

Eomer grinned as he lifted and spun Charlotte around the dance floor, revelling in her bright, musical laughter and the feel of his large hands around her slender waist. She was utterly uncoordinated within the dances, but what she lacked in competence she made up for with enthusiasm. She was smiling hugely, her hair flying as she twirled and her eyes shining with sheer joy; he did not think he had ever seen her so happy and the sight made his heart feel light.

He retained her hand for several dances before eventually relinquishing it to Devan, who was more than happy to lead her round. Whilst he did so, Eomer coaxed Maudig into putting down the pitcher of ale she held and joining him in a lively reel. For some time Charlotte's hand was claimed by one eager rider after another and Eomer took his turn dancing with some of the wives (and even a few mothers) of his riders.

He had paused between dances to quaff another ale with some of his riders when a familiar face approached him; Bawdewyn was several years older than him, the widow of a rider who had fallen nearly a decade ago. She had long, wavy blonde hair that framed bright blue eyes; she was wearing a dark green dress that hugged a tall, willowy figure. The two of them had had something of a dalliance over the past few years, though he had not visited her small house in Aldburg in many months now.

"Good evening, my lord," she said in a low, soft voice, smiling at him.

Eomer nodded at her in turn. "Good evening, Bawdewyn," he replied, his tone not unfriendly.

"Will you come and dance with me, my lord?" Bawdewyn asked, her gaze flicked up at him.

He gave her a small, tight smile and shook his head. "Not tonight."

Bawdewyn raised a single brow at him, seeming unsurprised by his reply. "Not even one drink?"

"Nay Bawdewyn," he said firmly, shaking his head once more.

She seemed almost amused. "I see …" she said, her gaze drifting over towards the dance floor, where Charlotte was laughingly being twirled around by Halas.

"Bawdewyn -" he started to say, but she interrupted him with a smile.

"We have been good friends, my lord Eomer, but our arrangement was not one that would last forever," she said, seeming unperturbed. "I believe I can see the reason for your refusal."

Eomer laughed a little at himself. "Am I that obvious?"

"Aye," Bawdewyn said with a small laugh. She lifted her goblet to him in a wry toast, though her smile was bright and genuine. "I wish you and your lady all joy. May you bring her more pleasure than you did with me when you first came to my bed."

"Bawdewyn ..." he chided goodnaturedly, unsure whether he should have been amused or offended.

"Westhu hal, my lord," Bawdewyn said in farewell, inclining her head at him and then melting away into the crowd in the hall.

Exhaling a breath, Eomer shook his head slightly and took another mouthful of ale as he turned his gaze back to the dance floor, quickly finding Charlotte. Her hair was tousled and her cheeks were rosy from the exertion of dancing. The song was coming to an end and the dancers all applauded the musicians on the balcony.

Halas seemed to be asking Charlotte for another dance, but she was laughing and begging off, clearly out of breath. Halas caught Eomer's eye and towed her over to the side of the dance floor. "She can't keep up with me, Eomer!"

Eomer took a deep breath as Halas practically deposited Charlotte in his arms, inhaling the sweet, exotic fragrance that had clung to her all evening since she had descended the stairs, the scent near on driving him mad.

"No, I can't!" she agreed, breathless and laughing, holding one hand to her chest as she caught her breath. She looked beautiful with her flushed cheeks and wild curls; he took her hand and led her to sit down on one of the benches on the edge of the dance floor while Halas grabbed another girl and pulled her into the fray of dancers.

He passed Charlotte another drink, letting their hands brush. She took it and looked around her with pleasure as she caught her breath. "I don't think I've ever been to a party like this," she said, sounding utterly content.

"You don't have the like in your world?" Eomer wanted to know, leaning against the pillar beside the bench she sat on in order to speak to her.

"No," she said, still looking around with bright eyes. "It's like ... Jane Austen meets a highland ceilidh."

Eomer shook his head bemusedly. "I have no idea what you just said."

Charlotte grinned hugely at him, merry and uninhibited from the alcohol she'd consumed. "Now you know how I feel when you talk to me in Rohirric," she pointed out in a slightly smug voice.

He shook his head in response as the music swelled and the dancers begun their vigorous movements again. "How do you dance in your world?" he wanted to know, holding his tankard loosely in his hand as he leant against the pillar.

She laughed and took a sip of her own drink. "I'll have to show you some time," she promised.

Eomer put down his tankard on a nearby table. "Show me now," he said, jerking his head towards the dance floor.

"There isn't room," she protested, looking around and laughing at the suggestion.

He glanced around briefly, then held his hand out to her as an idea struck him. "Come."

She immediately and unhesitatingly put her hand into his. She got to her feet and he towed her through the dance floor, weaving their way around the people within the hall. Hand in hand, they laughingly slipped through the doors of the hall and down the steps.

The courtyard below was bustling with stalls handing out even more food and drink as well as people surrounding bonfires, running and leaping through to tumultuous applause from onlookers.

"What are they doing?" Charlotte asked curiously, still holding his hand and watching a young rider run and jump over the flames with a loud whoop.

"They jump over the flames, it brings good health and prosperity," he explained as they descended the stairs towards the courtyard.

She snorted. "Not if you trip, it doesn't," she replied skeptically, her eyes fixed on another young couple who were running and jumping.

Eomer chuckled and squeezed her hand. "You know, they say two people who jump together are certain to do so again the following year," he said pointedly, lifting a single straight brow at her.

She raised her brows at him in turn, pursing her lips. "Do they now?" she said, her voice deliberately light and noncommittal.

He chortled once more and started to tow her forwards towards the closest bonfire. "Come."

She immediately dug in her heels. "But I -"

"I can see your mind whirring." She still looked unconvinced, biting her lip, and he shook his head at her. "Do you trust me?" he asked intently, keeping his voice low.

She blinked at him. "Of course I do."

"Good."

Without warning, he scooped her up bridal style, purposefully bouncing her a little as he adjusted his arms around her shoulders and knees. She screamed, clinging to him as he started to run. With long, easy strides, he cut passed the people queuing to jump over the fire and leapt over the flames himself. He felt the briefest, searing flash of intense heat before he landed lightly on the other side to loud applause from the people gathered.

Charlotte was gasping and laughing at the same time, still clutching at him. "Put me down!"

"As you wish," he said good-naturedly; he made to open his arms as if to drop her, making her instinctively shriek and cling to him even tighter once more. He laughed at her response. "Did you really think I would let you fall?" he asked, lowering her carefully and gently to her feet.

She pushed him playfully and he grabbed her hand once more to tow her towards the stables, his intended destination when they had left the hall.

Charlotte looked up at him with a breathless smile as he pulled the door almost completely shut behind them, leaving them alone in the dimly lit stables aside from the horses that were watching curiously over the doors of their stalls. "I see you weren't joking about the stables."

"Nay, I was not." They could still hear the muffled, lively music from within the hall. He approached her and spread his arms ever so slightly. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"A dance, min haelfdige, a dance from your world," he reminded her.

"Oh!" She tilted her head as she looked at him, clearly pondering something. "Well, there's lots of different types of dancing, it really depends on the music, the occasion and who you're dancing with," she said musingly. "I'm just trying to think what to teach you ... Umm …"

Eomer raised his chin ever so slightly. "Show me how you would dance with a man," he ordered, holding her eyes.

To his surprise, she gave a dark, soft laugh in response - it was a low and seductive sound. "Right, let's keep this PG and go ballroom rather than club," she said nonsensically to herself. "So …"

She came even closer so that she was standing with scant inches separating their bodies and he stood still, waiting for her direction. She took one hand in hers, entwining their fingers, and guided his other hand to her waist. Her free hand came up to rest on his shoulder and she looked up into his face; again, he inhaled the rich, creamy scent that surrounded her like a halo.

"So it's a three beat movement. You step forward on your right foot, then to the side and together, then back, to the side and together - it's like we're making a square with our feet," She explained and he glanced down at their feet as he figured out the movement in his head - clearly she would be stepping back when he stepped forward, the movements seemed simple enough.

"Ready?" she asked him, and he nodded, squeezing her hand ever so slightly. "Step when I count … one, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three …"

They muddled together for the first few beats, then he quickly grasped the simple steps; their movements flowed together, with him stepping forward as she seamlessly stepped back, and vice versa.

"You're a natural," she complimented, looking up at him as they moved. "Now, instead of just stepping forwards, to the side and back, add a little turn with your foot -"

He immediately did so, recognising that the movement would set the square they were making moving around the space in the stable rather than just staying in one spot - somehow, he had recognised that the man was supposed to lead the dance. "Like this?" he questioned, the hand on her waist and in his own guiding her around as they stepped to the beat and moved around the stable.

She laughed and nodded, looking elated that he had picked it up so quickly. "Yes," she praised. "Now I'm going to spin out …"

She released his shoulder and stepped away, before spinning back in so that her back was to his front as they rejoined hands in that new position. They paused like that for a brief moment, then she spun out once more and put them back in their original position as they continued their steps round the stable.

"Now, lift your hand high," she said, squeezing the hand she held in her own to indicate which one, "and I will spin again." Obediently, he raised his hand and she spun beneath it, once, twice, her dress flaring around her, before settling back into their hold again; she grinned at him as their eyes met, her expression bright and happy.

It was certainly not the lively stomping, clapping and whirling that he was used to, but he had to admit that the dance had a certain charm to it - largely the way he got to hold her close in his arms. Acting on that thought, he slid his hand from her waist to the small of her back, pressing them closer as they stepped. She caught his eye as he did so, her mouth curved into a gentle smile, not protesting this movement in the slightest.

"This is just the basics," she said in a slightly breathless voice as he released her hand so that she could spin out and then back in once more. "In proper ballroom dancing there are much more steps. Lifts and spins and things."

"Lifts and spins, hmm?" he questioned slyly, a note of mischief entering his voice.

Before she could reply, he seized her round the waist with both hands once again, picking her up easily, just as he had done when they had danced in the hall, holding her high and spinning them around and around, both of them laughing as he did so.

Their laughter faded into breathlessness as he slowly, purposefully, lowered her to the ground so that her back was against one of the pillars in the stable.

Catching his breath, he braced both hands on the wide pillar on either side of her head, caging her in with his body - mayhap it was the ale talking, making him bold, but he wanted nothing more that to press her back against it, to kiss her with all that he had in him.

He was contemplating these thoughts when he felt her hand on his face; she was positively glowing, radiant in the dim light of the stables. The sweet, heady scent of her filled him up; he wondered briefly if he could live on that scent alone, if he would even need food or drink again.

"You should always look like this," she breathed up at him, her smile never faltering as the tips of her fingers moved over his bearded cheek.

He raised a brow at her. "Clean?" he questioned in jest, knowing that was not what she meant.

She giggled, her fingers moving to his brow. "Happy," she explained as she gazed up at him - and he was happy, he realised, for the first time in a long while. "Sometimes your face is so stern."

"I have reason to be," he responded softly, the mood between them slowly turning serious.

"I know," she nodded, her expression full of quiet understanding.

There was a brief silence between them as her fingers trailed across his face, like she was trying to memorise it. He watched her intently as she did so; her eyes were fixed on her hand rather than meeting his gaze, and so he was free to drink her in. He inhaled a deep breath as her fingertips slowly, hesitantly, moved to touch his mouth - he needed to put a stop to this, he only had so much self control.

He caught her hand in his own, seemingly startling her slightly, as if she had been in a trance, and raised her wrist to his nose. He inhaled deeply from her skin, closing his eyes as that strange, exotic scent filled him. "I've been meaning to ask all evening, what is that scent?"

"Vanilla," she replied, her voice slightly shaky. "It's used in cakes and baking in my world, but it's often used as a perfume as well. I found some at the traders market."

He drew his nose down her wrist, his hot breath on her skin making her fingers curl ever so slightly. "So that is why you smell edible, min tannan."

"Will - will you tell me what that means?" she breathed.

He gave her a slow, half smile. "Not yet," he said, lowering their entwined fingers to be joined at their sides, his other hand still braced on the pillar beside her head.

She exhaled a breath and smiled shakily at him. "You know, all you're doing is making me more and more determined to learn Rohirric," she said wryly; there was a slight tremble in her voice, like it was an effort to speak properly.

Eomer chuckled and leaned forward, purposefully speaking right in her ear. "Ac ic dreogan ure hleorsceamu thonne ic asprecan se reord oe se Mark," he said huskily, feeling her shiver slightly and revelling in the effect he had on her.

"What?" she said as he drew back, a faint note of indignation in her voice. "What did you just say?"

"Can you not work it out?" he wanted to know, his smile lingering as his thumb drew circles on the back of the hand he held.

"Hmph," she said, tilting her head back against the pillar with a slight frown. " Well, ic is I, right?" she guessed and he nodded. "And I'm guessing sprek - spreak -"

"Asprecan," he said slowly, sounding out the word for her, watching her puzzle it out.

"Asprecan is speak?" she said, pronouncing it correctly this time.

"Aye," he confirmed, his gaze fixed on her mouth as she spoke.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she thought. "Asprecan se reord oe se Mark … speak the language of the Mark?"

"Close enough," he said smilingly; he liked the sound of her speaking his tongue.

She took a breath, still frowning slightly. "So you … something something … you speak the language of the mark?" she hazarded as a guess for the translation.

"I enjoy your confusion when I speak thus," he admitted. He released her hand and raised it to her face. "You get the smallest line just here," he told her, touching her lightly between her brows with his forefinger and watching as her eyes drifted shut at the contact.

Emboldened, he trailed the back of his knuckles down her jaw and her lips parted as she exhaled. He cupped her cheeks in both of his hands and studied her upturned face, but made no move to kiss her as he so desperately wanted.

Her eyes slowly opened - in them he could see desire, conflict and sadness. "Eomer …" she said slowly, her hands coming up to cover his on her cheeks.

He placed a single, light kiss on the very tip of her nose. "'tis alright," he said simply, though made no move to release her. "I can see you're not ready to join up yet."

Charlotte frowned slightly in confusion. "Join up?"

"Aye, it is a term for breaking in horses, when you have gained a wild horses trust and it willingly comes to you."

Her frown deepened as she blinked up at him. "Are you ... trying to break me then?" she breathed, looking troubled.

"Nay, it is just an expression. You're no wild horse to be tamed, Charlotte," he said honestly, shaking his head. He used his thumbs to tilt her chin up towards him, gazing deep into her eyes, his voice lowered to a whisper. "You're an exotic bird that got lost and came to roost in our eaves."

Keeping his hands cupping both of her cheeks, he leaned forwards and pressed their foreheads together, feeling her tremble slightly as he did so, their breath mingling between them. "And if I don't convince you to stay with me then I fear that one day you will fly away home."

"I … I don't know where home is any more," she admitted quietly, wretchedly, sounding conflicted. Her eyes were closed, her brow scrunched, and he could feel the faint press of her nails in the back on his hands as she clung tightly to him.

"Home is wherever you wish it to be," he told her in a low voice, keeping her face cupped in his large hands. "It is where you make it, where you chose it ..."

He felt her take a deep breath, as if steeling herself, then she suddenly ducked out from his arms, breaking the contact between them.

Eomer watched as she moved towards Raefen's stall, wondering if he had pushed too far.

Raefen had her head over the stall door, watching the proceedings curiously, and Charlotte hugged her neck tightly for a long moment. Even from a distance, Eomer could see how her hands were trembling as she stroked down the horses neck. "It's not that simple though, is it?" she said to him in a voice that sounded like it was about to break, still facing Raefen. "It's not about what I want."

There was a long, pregnant pause between them.

Slowly, cautiously, Eomer approached her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Come, this is not the time for lofty thoughts, discussions or decisions," he said softly, feeling her quiver under his touch. "We will go back inside, we will dance another reel, drink deeply and make merry." He turned her around and, with a single knuckle, raised her chin so that she met his eyes. "No thoughts of the future, not tonight."

Charlotte hesitated, then nodded, a slightly sad expression on her face. She took his hand and squeezed it tightly, too tightly, almost desperately. Together, they headed back out of the stables.

Eomer thought that there was something of an understanding between them, despite both everything and nothing having been said.

He had the impression that they both knew their feelings, but that they also knew the time, the circumstances, were not right.

The silence between them was not awkward, nor was it uncomfortable, it was simply patient, waiting and, perhaps, just a little sorrowful.

* * *

Several hours later the celebrations had wound down and the first hint of the oncoming dawn was lightening the dark sky to the East into blues and purples. Most had gone home to seek their beds, though several people had remained to help tidy up the debris in the hall. Food and empty tankards were scattered everywhere, with several of the deerhounds up on their hind legs to feast on the scraps from the tables.

Eomer and Charlotte were still largely silent as they picked their way around the hall. They were cleaning around more than a few unconscious, drunk riders who had simply been left where they had collapsed from excessive drinking. Young Bryde was among them, having been coaxed into his first drinking competition by Halas.

With the sky outside starting to lighten, Maudig eventually shooed them away to get some rest after the long evening.

Eomer wordlessly gestured for Charlotte to follow him, and she trailed after him down to the empty kitchens. She perched on one of the high workbenches, stifling a yawn and rubbing her eyes, while he set about boiling water for the two of them.

"Come," he said, his voice quiet and raspy as he handed her a mug of hot tea and jerked his head towards the doorway.

Still silent, she followed him out onto the stone terrace and they both sat down on the cold stone at its very edge with their feet dangling, facing out towards the plains and feeling the cold mountain breeze stirring their hair. The sun was just starting to crest the distant horizon, turning the sky buttery yellow amidst the streaks of pink and purple clouds that had gathered in the East.

Pensively, Eomer thought back on the conversation he had watched Charlotte have with Gandalf when she had first arrived all those weeks ago.

Gandalf had spoken of the growing power in Mordor; in the far distance he could make out a faint smudge of the Mountains of Shadow that bordered that dark land.

He wondered if it was his imagination, or if the sunrise was not as bright as usual - there seemed to be a grey haze on the horizon, with the distant clouds flanking the Mountains of Shadow.

It wasn't long before Eomer felt Charlotte's head rest on his shoulder as sleep finally claimed her.

He turned his head to look at her, listening to her soft breaths.

He couldn't help but think back to how she had been back in the stables earlier that evening, how her demeanor had changed from open, happy and affectionate to closed off and fearful with just a few words about the future.

She feared what the future would bring, no doubt knowing exactly what was to come due to her knowledge, but for the very first time Eomer wondered what would become of _him_ in the wars to come.

"_It's not that simple though, is it_?" she'd said, casting a haunted look at him over her shoulder when he had mentioned the possibility of her staying and being with him.

The idea had firmly taken root in his head - was she wary of committing herself to staying because she knew that he didn't survive this war?

She shifted closer to him and he sighed wearily in response - really, there was little use in speculating, he knew full well that she would keep her secrets close to her chest.

The empty mug that had contained tea that she was holding was drooping in her hands, threatening to fall. He rescued it, leaving both of their mugs to the side of him, and moved to pick her up in his arms.

Lifting her with ease, he carried her off the terrace, into the hall and up the stairs to the second level. He pushed open the door to Eowyn's old room with his foot and laid her gently on her bed. He left her fully dressed, though did carefully slip her shoes off her feet, quietly marvelling at how small and soft her feet were in his large hands.

He gazed at her quietly for a moment, taking in her peaceful, sleeping form, before turning to leave the room.

Eomer made his way to the balcony at the far end of the corridor to look out over the plains once more, a space he had scarcely used before Charlotte had arrived.

The sun had cleared the horizon and was casting its pale, early morning light across Rohan. There was more than a bite of cold in the air; autumn was well and truly coming to a close.

Winter was upon them.

* * *

**Sorry for the long wait between updates - work started up again in September and I've also started a bunch of evening classes that has just eaten up my free time! Going to try to get back into a more regular update schedule as well. **

**Also, for those who are still following, I do intend to go back to my Marvel fics at some point - my muse for those seems to have taken a break, so I think I need to go rewatch some of the films to get inspiration going again!**

**Big thank you to BlackAquoKat for betaing!**

**Leave a review, my lovelies :)**


	12. Lessons and plans

**Chapter 12 - Lessons and plans**

* * *

"**ðy mara wisdom on londe wære ðy we ma geðeoda cuðon."  
**"_There would be more wisdom in the land, the more languages we knew."_

_Pastoral care_

* * *

Following Hollantide there was still plenty of work to be done. The harvest had been gathered before the celebrations, but in the days following, Charlotte spent many long hours in the Aldburg storerooms with various ledgers, doing detailed inventories.

Finally finished, she carried the books back up to the hall where she found Eomer sitting with some of the riders.

"Eomer?" He turned to her with an easy smile. Her expression was troubled as she held the ledgers protectively to her chest. "Can I speak to you?"

He moved up and gestured towards the bench with a smile. "Of course."

"Privately?"

His brow quirked ever so slightly, but he obligingly rose to his feet. "Let's go up to the study."

Charlotte followed him upstairs.

Things seemed _different_ between them after Hollantide, with all of those things that had been both said and unsaid between them that evening.

Her feelings for him, feelings that she was fairly certain were reciprocated, had crept up on her and yet there was no way she could act upon them. She knew full well he was not for her; after this war he would marry the Princess Lotheriel and become King of Rohan.

And she would go home.

There was no protecting her heart at this point. That much was certain. But she could protect the story that she knew. Even the smallest shift could change things for the worst and she wasn't about to let that happen.

In response to this, Charlotte had found herself being curiously formal with him the last few days as a way to manage her feelings, something he had no doubt noticed. He took this in stride, however, his whole demeanor open and warm as always.

Eomer closed the study door behind them, waving her towards the chairs by the fire and taking a seat in turn.

"So, what did you wish to speak to me about?"

Perching on the edge of her chair, she cracked open the ledger in her hands. "The harvest is all gathered in and I've logged everything, but I was comparing it to the inventories done in previous years and my own records about the population demographic surrounding Aldburg …"

Eomer frowned at her. "I know that it is not quite as bountiful as we've had in the past, but not small enough to be a cause for concern - in truth I had been pleased with the size of the harvest."

Charlotte bit her lip, looking down at the ledger in her lap to avoid his eyes.

"You look troubled." His elbows rested on his knees as he leant towards her.

She hesitated. "You know I can't tell you anything about what I know, but …"

"But it is plain that war is coming," he finished after she trailed off. She nodded cautiously.

Eomer sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Orcs have been known to despoil wells, raze crops." He gave her a knowing look, one tinged with weariness. "You think that the harvest will not be enough."

Charlotte knew with certainty that orcs would indeed trample and despoil the land, so much so that the Riddermark would be brought almost to the brink of starvation despite the coming victory, but she couldn't tell him that. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips before she said, "I think it would be wise to be frugal."

Eomer nodded slowly. "I am going to Edoras in the next few days for the _slaeten_, the hunt. I will speak to Theodred and Erkenbrand about ensuring nothing is wasted."

"The hunt?" She tilted her head at him.

"Aye, it officially signifies the start of winter. We fill the stores with meat for winter and have a feast." He gave her a small, sad smile. "I'd wish for you to come with me for the celebrations, but Edoras is not safe for you."

Charlotte was too distracted by the news of a large hunt further filling the winter stores to respond to his smile.

"How many animals are taken?" She had a good idea of how much meat was needed to feed the hall for a week after working in the kitchens and it sounded like this hunt was going to be a big one.

"A fair amount. Enough for the feast, then some will be salted and dried." He shrugged. "We tend not to preserve much of it. Even dried and salted it tends to spoil."

"But what if you _could_ preserve it?" Her heart pounded as an idea whirred in her head. One that could potentially make all the difference with the short rations that would come once the war finished, once they won. "In my world freeze meat and fish for months at a time." She gestured with her hands, trying explain in a way that he would understand. "We have - well, huge containers, you might say - that never go above freezing and -"

"Like an ice house?" Eomer interrupted, frowning at her.

"Yes!" she said with excitement. "You can preserve food for months and it's fine once it's defrosted."

Eomer turned his gaze to the window, looking out towards the mountains flanking Aldburg. "There's an old ice house up in the mountains, rarely used. We can investigate it when I return."

Charlotte smiled at him - this was some way she could help, make a difference to the people of Rohan, hopefully without changing the outcome of the story. "Thank you."

He inclined his head at her, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth beneath his beard. "If what you are saying about the need for supplies is true, I believe I will be thanking you."

She ducked her head, avoiding his eyes once again. "Be careful in Edoras," she said quietly; it seemed a poor substitute to all of the other, more heartfelt things she wanted to say to him.

Eomer, however, seemed more than content with her words.

"I will," he replied, his gaze warm as it lingered on her.

* * *

A distant horn cut through the chilled air.

"The King's horn." Theodred frowned from atop of Brego, his horse. He reined the creature in and turned to look behind them. "Father must be calling an end to the hunt."

"You mean _Grima_ must be calling an end to the hunt," Eomer said bitterly from beside him.

Erkenbrand shook his head. "There's scarcely enough for a feast, let alone for storage," the lord of the Westfold commented with a deep frown upon his bearded face. "It is well that the harvest was good, else we might face shortages."

"I would speak to you on that matter," Eomer said softly, Charlotte's words weighing in his mind.

Both Theodred and Erkenbrand turned him, but he shook his head. "We will talk later."

The three riders returned to the rest of the party. Eomer did his best to ignore Wormtongue's look of smug satisfaction at having spoiled the hunt for everyone else.

Theoden was atop his horse beside Eowyn, neither of whom had joined the hunt - Theoden because Grima had advised against it and Eowyn because she had not wanted to leave their uncle alone. The King was wrapped in many layers of furs and seemingly paid no attention whatsoever to his surroundings. Eowyn's face looked like it was carved from marble, with no flickers of emotion to be seen.

The feast that followed at Edoras was a sorry excuse for a celebration.

Theoden sat silent at the head table. The hall was dark, lit only by the central hearth and a few scant candles, and no music played. Conversations were muted, quickly stifled whenever Wormtongue looked in their direction.

It was almost a relief when the King retired early, bringing an end to the new celebrations.

Eomer, Theodred, and Erkenbrand gathered in Theodred's chambers after the feast, one of the few places in the hall where they would not be disturbed or overheard. They sat around his table, tankards in hand, as they discussed their plans for storing and preserving food for the different regions of Rohan.

"So we are agreed," Eomer said as their conversation drew to a close. "We will ration the supplies we have and make provisions to preserve food over the winter. Between our three seats we may well be able to feed much of the Riddermark."

"There will be trouble if they are discovered, but it will be worth it," Erkenbrand pointed out.

"Trouble, trouble for putting aside food to feed our people," Theodred said with no small amount of disgust. He shook his head and turned his attention to Eomer. "Do you really believe things will get so bad, cousin?"

"I do." Eomer thought of all that Charlotte had said and hinted at. He could not help but remember her words after he had returned from the patrol where he had first encountered the Uruk-hai, words that had haunted him ever since. "And things are going to get worse before they get better."

The hour grew late and Erkenbrand headed off to bed. Eomer lingered, looking at Theodred's bookcases. Charlotte had already worked her way through many of the books in the study. He hoped to bring some back to her as a gift.

"Might I borrow these?" he asked Theodred, a small stack of books in his hands.

Theodred picked up the book on the top of the pile. "Grandmother Morwen's dictionary." He raised his eyebrows at Eomer. "This wouldn't happen to be for the young lady that's turned your head now, would it?"

Eomer scowled at his cousin. "Eowyn needs to learn to keep her mouth shut," he grumbled without any real ire.

Theodred grinned and handed the book back. "She has told only me, have no fear."

There was a pause as they returned to the table. Theodred refilled both of their tankards with ale as they sat once more. "This woman, are you going to marry her?"

"I've already bought her a horse," Eomer admitted. He'd bought Raefen from the herdsman at the East-emmet when they had gone to collect the rents. Horses were, of course, a traditional betrothal gift in the Riddermark and he could only hope that she would accept it, that he could convince her to stay with him. "I intend to give it to her at Yule."

"I am happy for you," Theodred looked pleased for Eomer - he, of course, knew nothing of Charlotte's origins and why she might well refuse a proposal. "I look forward to meeting her."

"You have more freedom than Eowyn does," Eomer pointed out. "Come to Aldburg next time you are home from patrols for an extended period. It has been a long time since we had a royal visit, we would make you welcome."

Theodred toasted him with his tankard. "You know, cousin, I might just do that."

* * *

Charlotte was sitting behind the desk in the study, pouring over one of the household ledgers when the door to the study opened. She glanced up and smiled when she saw Eomer.

His answering smile was sly and mischievous. "Ead eamorgen, min tannen," he said in Rohirric.

"Hello, welcome back," she said with a pleased grin.

Eomer was dressed in his more formal clothing having come from Edoras, brown trousers and a shirt with embroidery at the collar. He carried a fair-sized square package wrapped in cloth and tied with string.

"Ich agan a hyhtgiefu fo thu." He held the package out to her.

Charlotte frowned. Why he was speaking to her in Rohirric? "I'm sorry, what?"

He took pity on her and smiled. "I have a gift for you," he said in Westron.

"Oh?" She stood and took the package from him, finding it to be surprisingly heavy.

She tugged at the string and pulled aside the cloth to reveal several leather bound books. "More books," she said in a pleased voice. She'd made steady progress through the books in Eomer's study already, and had dreaded the day when she would lack for new reading material.

"From my cousin's collection."

She looked up and smiled at him. "Thank you."

Eomer nodded his head towards the books. "Look at the green one."

Charlotte fished the leather-bound book out of the pile and cracked it open. She perused a few pages, finding neat, hand-written columns of Rohirric and Westron words. She looked up at him with wide eyes. "Eomer … is this a _dictionary_?"

"You mentioned a desire to properly learn Rohirric. This was made by my grandmother Morwen, who hailed from Gondor, in her first years at Edoras. The first half is her notes on grammar and customs, but the latter is a direct translation from Westron words to as near as she could write down their Rohirric translations, followed by Rohirric words to Westron."

"Thank you!" She launched herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Eomer's rich laughter filled the study as he hugged her back, lifting her briefly off her feet. "You are most welcome." He sounded deeply satisfied with her reaction.

Several long seconds passed before they eventually released each other - she stepped back quickly and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

Eomer chucked her fondly under the chin with one knuckle. "Thu gewill sprechest se reord oe se Mark aer langfernes, min halfdige," he said with a smile, and she could recognise enough of the words to know he was telling her she would speak the language of the Riddermark before long.

Charlotte settled happily in one of the chairs before the fire and thumbed through more of the book. "She even has a section on conjugating verbs," she mentioned as Eomer came to sit opposite her. "I think this will be harder than I thought. I never liked language lessons at school."

"You have other languages in your world?"

"Oui, je parle Français." Eomer blinked at her in shock and so she continued to exhaust her basic knowledge of the French language. "Bonjour, je m'appelle Charlotte. Je vis en Angleterre. J'ai vingt trois ans."

"It is strange to hear you speak thus." Eomer sounded fascinated. "Aside from your name I have no idea what you just said."

"The product of a mostly forgotten GCSE in French, I'm afraid. My name, where I live, my age … I could probably give you directions to the Eiffel Tower though as well, if you were lost in Paris.

Eomer shook his head. "It is moments like this that I am reminded just how strange you are."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she teased, tilting her head playfully at him.

There was a brief, comfortable pause between them. "So, will I find _min tannen_ in here?" He still hadn't told her what that particular epithet meant.

His smile turned secretive. "No, you will not."

She sighed in an exaggerated fashion, then abruptly grinned. "Well, two can play at that game, _ma petit chou_."

Eomer narrowed his eyes at the challenge in her words. "And what, dear Charlotte..." he said in a voice that made her stomach flip, "did you just call me?"

Charlotte gave him her best aloof expression despite the grin battling it's way onto her face. "Now that would be telling."

He shook his head with a laugh as he settled back in his chair. "Nu, daelan sum morath eac me."

She frowned. Some of those words were familiar, but she couldn't puzzle out the meaning.

"Morath …" Eomer repeated, gesturing down to the dictionary in her hands.

She quickly looked through the hand-written dictionary. She silently thanked Morwen for having alphabetized it for easy perusal.

"Morath … sweet, hot wine?" She looked up at him for confirmation.

"Well done." He nodded towards the stone carafe of wine on his desk. Maudig had delivered it up to her not long before his arrival, the stone keeping the wine hot.

"I hope you're not going to make me translate all of our conversations," she said with a good-natured grumble as she got up to pour the drinks for them.

"No, do not fear."

Her hands paused on the tray Maudig had given her and she looked up at him. "I only have the one cup up here."

"I do not mind sharing." His whole demeanor was lazy and relaxed, reclined in the large chair by the fire.

She poured a large cup of the hot wine for them to share and handed it to him first. She sat down on the floor upon the thick furs in front of him, right before the fire to savour the warmth of the hearth. She wrapped her arms around her knees and looked up at him.

She watched him take a sip. "How was Edoras?"

Eomer's mood immediately turned darker, somber. "Not good, though I did convince Theodred and Erkenbrand to take steps to store and ration our harvest." He leaned forwards and handed her the cup, his fingers brushing hers. "Wormtongue grows in power in the court. He is like a spider lurking in the shadows, plucking the strings of his web. The King listens to no counsel but his." He sighed heavily. "Were it not for Theodred, I would fear that Wormtongue could take power completely."

Charlotte tried to push away the looming guilt and anxiety that filled her whenever he mentioned Theodred's name since she knew full well that she could do nothing to save him without changing the story.

She took a slow sip of her own and passed the cup back to him. "Things will get better," she said quietly. She could give him no details, but felt that she couldn't leave him with no hope whatsoever.

"Better," he repeated, though there was a queer note in his voice as he stared into the flickering flames, losing himself in thought.

A long, lingering silence fell between them, one she was loath to break.

Before long they finished off the wine and Charlotte found herself yawning with the lull in conversation.

"It's late. I'm going to go to bed." She rose to her feet. She paused, her arms wrapped around herself, reluctant to leave him in such a pensive mood, but could think of little to say to improve his mood. "Goodnight then, Eomer."

"Goodnight Charlotte," he responded, roused from his thoughts once more.

She picked up the books and had just reached the door of the study when his voice stopped her.

"Wait."

She turned to face him once more. He leaned out of the chair to address her.

"I wish for something in return for the books."

She raised her eyebrows, "Oh, you do, do you?" Her hand rested on the doorknob.

"I want to know … what did you call me before?" he said with a jerk of his chin.

Part of her wanted to hold back in retaliation for his own secret name for her, but the other part of her saw an opportunity to hopefully make him smile and decided to take it.

"A cabbage." She turned on her heel and walked out of the study without another word.

His surprised laughter followed her down the hall and she smiled to herself in turn.

* * *

The rain had been pouring non-stop all morning over Aldburg, a heavy and persistent deluge that had driven everyone inside.

Charlotte was sitting in the hall with her new books spread around her. She occasionally glanced warily up at the large stained glass window dominating the far wall of the hall whenever thunder rumbled in the distance, though she wasn't as disturbed by the storm in the safety of the hall as she had been in the stables at the beacon some weeks ago.

The riders had gone out on patrol only that morning and she couldn't help but think of them, particularly Eomer, out in the cold rain.

Bryde came over to sit opposite her and she cast him an absent smile before returning to her work.

She was aware of Bryde's quiet, curious glances towards the books on the table as he polished some riding tack to a glossy shine. Over the course of several minutes he opened his mouth several times as if to speak, but then closed it again.

"It looks hard," he said eventually, his eyes fixed down at the tack in front of him.

Charlotte looked up at him in confusion and he nodded towards her books. "I suppose it is, if you don't know how." She thought for the first time how daunting reading and writing would be to someone who knew nothing of it. "I learned as a young child. I think it's easier for children to learn."

Bryde nodded seriously, his eyes cast downwards once more.

There was a long silence as Charlotte looked at the young lad, trying to figure out if his comment had been a subtle request or just a passing observation.

"Would you … like me to teach you?"

Bryde's head shot up and he looked at her with cautious, eager hope. "Would you?"

Charlotte grinned. "Seems the least I can do after all the trouble you've gone to to teach me how to ride." This statement coaxed a small, rare smile from the reticent teenager as he no doubt thought on just how exasperated he could be during their lessons.

She shuffled the parchment around until she found a blank page. "What do you know already?"

He took the quill from her, dipped it carefully into the ink and then took a deep breath. Painfully slowly, he scratched his name on to the parchment in large, blotchy and jagged letters. When he was finished he looked up at her once more, clearly rather proud of himself.

"Well done," Charlotte commended honestly. Still, she couldn't help but think she had her work cut out for her here. "Let's start with some other letters then, shall we?"

* * *

The rain continued all through the night and into the next morning, soaking the ground and leaving the horses absolutely splattered with mud as they churned up the fields.

It was just after lunch and Charlotte had just changed into fresh clothes after getting drenched turning Raefen out into the field. She came downstairs to look for Bryde, ready for their next impromptu lesson, only to be confronted by half a dozen children of various ages, soaked through and standing hopefully in the entryway of the hall behind the hesitant teenager.

"They heard ye were teaching me," Bryde said sheepishly by way of explanation, a hint of exasperation in his voice as Charlotte stared at the assembled group with wide eyes. "They want to learn too."

"Right …" Charlotte said weakly, staring at the group of wet and bedraggled children before her.

* * *

Eomer returned from several long, wet days out on patrol and blinked in surprise when he saw the terrace beneath the hall empty. He'd grown used to Charlotte coming out to greet them with a happy smile lighting her face whenever he returned from an extended absence, but she was nowhere in sight despite the rain having stopped. His face slowly fell into a frown as he rubbed Firefoot down, his eyes constantly darting to the stable doors. She didn't appear.

Growing concerned, he headed up into the hall to look for her.

He was about to go straight to the study when the hubbub of the hall caught his attention. He glanced through the large doors and froze.

There, at the far end of the hall, was Charlotte.

She was surrounded by nearly a dozen children he recognised from around the town, the youngest being the daughter of one of his riders, barely three summers old, whereas the eldest, Bryde, towered over the others. They were all sitting around a table in the far corner, the children hunched over small boards with thin wooden sticks in their hands and pieces of parchment in the middle of the table.

They didn't notice his approach.

"What's this?"

Charlotte scrambled to her feet from where she had been kneeling on the floor beside a small boy.

Her gaze darted between him and the children. "We'll carry on with this later," she said to the mismatched troop. "Off you go, remember to leave your boards by the fire."

Obediently, the children gathered up their little boards and filed out of the hall, many of them laughing and giggling as they went.

Charlotte approached him, holding one of the boards protectively to her chest. "I didn't realise you were back, I didn't hear the horns." She looked nervous for some inexplicable reason.

Eomer was busy looking through the pieces of parchment littering the table - there was a large letter A, followed by a drawing of an apple, a H alongside a badly drawn horse and an S with a sword beside it - exactly the sort of thing he remembered his childhood tutor using when he was learning his letters. "You're teaching them to read," he said in a stunned voice, raising his gaze to her.

Charlotte looked worried. "Are you angry?" She still held the board protectively in front of her.

"Why would I be angry?"

She shrugged hesitantly. "I don't know, for … overstepping my bounds?"

Eomer shook his head with a smile, a warm feeling rising deep within his chest. "I assure you, anger is one of the furthest things from my mind."

Charlotte smiled, looking more than a little relieved at his words.

He held out his hand for the tablet she held. "May I?"

She handed it to him. It was a simple wooden frame that had been filled with wax. The children had been using sharpened pieces of wood to scratch letters and small words into the wax.

"Wax tablets, they've been used for thousands of years in my world," she told him. "I know that parchment is expensive, but this way they can scratch out their work and re-melt the wax."

He turned the tablet over in his hands. "Clever."

She bit her lip, seemingly wanting to ask him something but not sure how. "It started with Bryde, then the rest of them came."

He nodded, still looking down at the wax tablet.

"Eomer, I'd like -"

"Charlotte, would you -"

They both stopped, having been speaking over each other.

"You first," Charlotte offered.

"No, please," he insisted, gesturing for her to continue.

She took a deep, steadying breath. "Eomer, I'd like to continue with these lessons," she said quickly. "At the moment I'm just winging it. It needs proper planning and structure, maybe even dividing the children into a few separate classes, but I …"

She trailed off and Eomer simply stared at her.

This was Theodred's dream; ever since he had visited a school in Gondor he had spoken passionately about starting such a thing in Rohan at some point. He knew their people would never be great scholars, but basic reading, writing or knowledge of numbers would help a child in any profession. Starting such schools in Rohan was only a pipe dream at the moment, one that would no doubt encounter resistance, but seeing Charlotte surrounded by a group of children had given him hope that such a thing might actually be possible.

He nodded slowly, unable to find the words to tell her what this meant to him, to Rohan.

"Then ... I have your permission?" She didn't quite seem to believe him.

He handed the tablet back to her. "Of course."

She smiled widely, a hint of relief in her bearing, and hugged the tablet to her chest once more.

He caught her elbow lightly in his hand as she moved past him to gather the parchments from the table. "Charlotte," he said in a low voice, inadvertently bringing their bodies close together. "I know that you are a scholar in your world, but these are the children of herdsmen, farriers, riders … You would be teaching them reading, writing, a little arithmetic at the most."

"I know."

"It seems a waste of your fine accomplishments."

"Accomplishments?" she repeated in a teasing tone, evidently amused by something in his phrasing, though he couldn't have said why that was. She laughed and shook her head before raising her gaze to his, her eyes sparkling. "My accomplishments, as you put it, will keep, Mr Darcy."

He gave her a bemused look and she laughed again at his expression. "In all seriousness, Eomer, I don't think teaching children who want to learn could ever be considered a waste."

"Quite right." He allowed his hand to slip down her wrist to capture her hand in his own. He raised her fingers to his lips and pressed a light kiss to the back of her hand, noting with no small amount of satisfaction that her breath caught at this action and a faint blush rose in her cheeks. "Come, show me what you have been teaching so far, min tannen."

As she showed him the letter primers and counters she had been using one thought occupied his mind - he needed to send a message to Theodred about this.

* * *

The next few weeks passed quickly, with Charlotte busy with her newly founded school and Eomer often out on patrol. Before she knew it, winter was well and truly upon them and people of the town had started talking about preparations for Yule, the midwinter festival.

From what Charlotte had gathered from talk among the townsfolk, Yule was a celebration held on the longest night of the year, as the nights then became shorter once more and daylight returned. There would be several days of preparation before the feast of the longest night, during which there would be a large hunt, garlands would be collected and hung about the hall, seasonal games would be played and gifts would be made.

Handmade gifts seemed to be the done thing, and so Charlotte had already started giving some thought to what she could make.

It was also apparently considered a lucky time for weddings, with the long nights making an auspicious start to a married couple's life together, whereas the coming of the lengthening days signified a time of growth and rebirth. Annwyn and Aldhelm were the planning on having their wedding shortly before the celebrations and there was a flurry of activity to prepare.

Charlotte was surprised to learn that many of the herdsman and tenants of lone farmsteads would make their way to nearby towns during the winter months, some to simply visit and enjoy the celebrations, others staying longer to weather out the worst of the heavy snows. She was delighted to once more meet Grindan, Frieda, their two little girls and baby Alfred. The child she had delivered while out collecting the rents was now several weeks old and swaddled in thick blankets.

Little Alfred had lost the red and wrinkled skin of a newborn and was a large, bright eyed baby. Frieda offered to let Charlotte hold him and she eagerly accepted this time, now that she wasn't covered in the evidence of the birth and trembling from adrenaline. Alfred gazed up at her from where she gently bounced him in her arms, gurgling happily.

Grindan and Frieda needed to go and find their lodgings, and so Charlotte offered to watch Alfred and the two little girls, whose names she had discovered were Eda and Elga, while they went to get themselves sorted. The parents were happy for her to mind them and said they would come find them at the hall in an hour or so.

The two little girls immediately started chattering away in Rohirric and, with her limited knowledge of the language, Charlotte was eventually able to deduce that they wanted to see the horses and so she took them to the stables near the hall. Bryde was perched on a haybale, busy repairing a broken stirrup, and was happy to translate and answer any questions the girls had as they brushed down Raefen, barely able to reach the tops of her legs.

Not long after they entered the stables, Alfred started to fuss and whimper in her arms and so Charlotte took him outside while Bryde continued to watch Eda and Elga.

Climbing the steps towards the hall, Charlotte began to pace the stone terrace. She bounced the baby a little as she walked, humming and singing little songs and nursery rhymes that she knew from her world.

As she walked, a lone rider appeared in the courtyard below, heavily armed and armoured with his long, golden hair braided back from his face.

He dismounted and handed the reins of his large horse to one of the stable boys. The man started to climb the steps up to the hall, only to stop and stare at the sight of her.

Charlotte frowned as she became aware of the man's intense scrutiny. "Hello," she said cautiously. Eomer's warnings of strangers bristled in the back of her mind.

He shook his head as if to clear it and continued to climb the steps to the terrace. "You must excuse my staring. I was merely thinking about how well you looked." His easy smile widened to one of amusement, as if he was thinking of a private joke. "Anyone would think that you were the mistress of this hall."

"Hardly that," she muttered, not really intending to be heard.

"You are Charlotte, are you not?" the rider asked as he joined her on the terrace. She blinked in surprise at this stranger knowing her name. He took that as confirmation. "Eomer has spoken most highly of you."

"He has?" She stared at the stranger - he was not someone she recognised from Aldburg or Eomer's riders.

"And who is this little one?" The rider peered down into the blankets she held, where little Alfred was blinking up at the man.

"Oh, his name is Alfred, the son of one of the farmers surrounding Aldburg. I'm just minding him for a while."

He nodded. "The child you delivered, I heard the story." The rider reached forward to gently touch the babies cheek, but little Alfred grabbed his finger tightly. "He's strong," the man observed with a laugh.

"A future captain, his father is convinced," Charlotte said with a small smile, still wondering who this man was and why he was talking to her with such familiarity. He was tall, broad and golden haired, perhaps several years older than Eomer. His armour was fine and there was something familiar about his face, though she was certain she had never seen him before.

"I can see that, no doubt he will grow up well."

"I'm sorry, but … I don't actually believe that we have met." She hoped she wasn't coming across as rude but this encounter has been more than a little confusing. "Are you one of Eomer's riders?"

The rider laughed once more. "Strictly speaking, he is one of mine."

"I don't understand." she said with a frown.

"You must forgive me for not introducing myself, my lady," the man said with an easy smile, taking her hand and placing a light kiss upon it. "I am Theodred, son of Theoden, second marshal of the Riddermark."

* * *

**This chapter fought me tooth and nail to write!**

**Big thank you to Blackaquokat for beating!**

**Leave a review,my lovelies :)**


	13. The wars to come

**Chapter 13 - The wars to come**

* * *

"_**Ne deah eall soþ asæd ne eall sar ætwiten."**__  
_"_It does no good to tell all truths or blame all wrongs."_

_Durham proverbs_

* * *

Theodred smiled kindly at the young woman Eomer had told him so much about as she approached his table with a plate and a tankard of ale in her hands. He had obviously surprised her with his initial arrival in Aldburg. She had been flustered out on the terrace after he had introduced himself, stuttering her greetings before hastily inviting him inside for some refreshment after his journey from Edoras.

She had then vanished to the kitchens, bolting like a spooked filly, leaving him to speak briefly with Eomer's riders, all of whom wanted to greet him.

When she returned, having left the baby she'd been minding to the care of another, she studiously avoided his searching eyes. Her hands were visibly shaking as she put the food down in front of him and she made to leave just as quick as she arrived.

Theodred frowned. Surely she could not be so disturbed simply by his presence? Did she fear that he would disapprove of her and, by extension, his cousin's growing affection towards her?

"Are you well, my lady?" he asked before she could turn and flee back to the kitchens.

"I - yes, I'm fine," she replied in her strangely accented voice, her ill at ease tone conflicting with her words.

"Come, sit with me." Theodred waved a hand towards the bench and tucking in to the warm, welcome food she had brought.

The young woman - Charlotte, Eomer had said her name was - hesitated and then perched on the edge of the seat with her hands clasped tightly together in her lap, as if to stop her trembling by force alone.

The Rohirrim were a true, plain spoken people - Theodred decided to confront this problem head on.

"I fear my presence here discomforts you," he began with a small smile in an attempt to put her at ease.

She seemed startled by his assumption. "What? No! No not at all," the woman insisted with a frantic shake of her head. "I didn't mean to make you think that. It's not my intention to be rude or anything, it's just …"

"Yes?" he prompted as she trailed off.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "It's just … I've … heard a lot about you," she said softly, pitching her voice so that others would not hear. "It's … strange to put a face to the name."

Theodred smiled. "Eomer has told me of you also. You are not a woman of Rohan, I'm told."

"No … I'm from Lake Town."

It was the note of hesitation in her voice that betrayed her lie - that, and her accent was not one from the North.

"Hmm … Will you tell me of your home?"

"My home?" she repeated, still flustered by his questions. "Oh, my home is … I …"

She suddenly leant towards him, her eyes intent. "Theodred - Prince Theodred - can I ask you something?"

The sudden, direct shift in her demeanor caused him to blink, but nevertheless he nodded. "Of course."

Charlotte seemed to suddenly not know what, exactly, it was she wanted to ask. There was silence for nearly a full minute before she finally whispered her question.

"Are you ... afraid?"

"Afraid, my lady?" he prompted. He was quite curious as to what had caused this sudden change in her.

"Of - of the wars to come."

He set down his tankard and turned to face her properly, giving her his full attention. "I am, lady. I fear that dark days lie ahead for Rohan. As a people, we must all pull together to support one another if we are to see victory."

To his surprise, she shook her head. "No, no, I mean ... Are you afraid for _yourself_?"

"I have made oaths to both lord and lands. My life belongs to Rohan," he said, meaning every word he spoke. "If by my death I could save even one man, woman or child then I would gladly step before the sword."

She briefly bit her lip, letting it drag through her teeth before speaking. "So … so if you knew that things would turn out well for Rohan, you wouldn't mind dying?"

Theodred frowned. What strange questions she asked. "No man craves death. He wishes for a wife and children, to die in his bed at an old age with a belly full of food. But if death is to come in battle, I would only regret that I have but one life to give for Rohan."

The woman, Charlotte, was staring at him intently. Her head was tilted to one side, her gaze fixed on his, however Theodred had the impression that she wasn't actually seeing him. That she was deep in thought about something troubling her.

"May I ask to what these questions tend?" He picked up his tankard once more and broke the curious moment between them.

She shook her head, rousing herself from her thoughts. "It's nothing."

Theodred nodded slowly. He was willing to let these strange questions pass for now. "I know you are not of Rohan, but have faith in the strength and hearts of the people you now find yourself among." He smiled at her with genuine warmth. "All will be well."

"Yes." There was a queer note in her strangled voice. "Yes … All will be well."

"Theodred!" Eomer's voice boomed across the hall, making them both turn to look in his direction as he approached.

He stood to greet his cousin, clasping his arm and pulling him into a familiar embrace.

"We had no word of your coming," Eomer said, clapping him on the shoulder with a smile.

"You invited me, did you not?" Theodred replied with a grin.

His cousin laughed. "You are always welcome." Eomer joined them at the table, brushing his hand over Charlotte's back as he sat down in a gesture that spoke of ease and familiarity. "I am surprised you could spare the time though."

"I can only stay the one night, I'm needed back at the border."

Eomer turned to Charlotte, who was wringing a cloth napkin between her hands as she listened to their conversation. "Theodred is single-handedly protecting our borders at the Fords of Isen."

"Oh?" she said, that same strangled note in her voice. "The Fords of Isen?"

"You do me too much honour, cousin. The credit is not mine alone," Theodred dismissed with a smile.

"You know you rally those men every time you fight, without you leading them I fear they would lose heart and the Fords would be lost," Eomer insisted. He turned to Charlotte once more to explain. "Theodred has been holding them for weeks now. They are a strategic point. Were they to be taken then orcs could roam freely across our lands and Isengard could conquer the Westfold with ease." Eomer picked up Theodred's tankard and wryly toasted him with it. "I fear what would happen without you, cousin."

Charlotte suddenly stood, almost knocking over the bench behind her in her haste. "I'll leave you two to catch up," she muttered, gathering some empty plates from the table. Once her arms were full, she paused and turned back to face him - Theodred was surprised to see tears in her eyes. "I'm … I'm glad I met you, Theodred."

He nodded at her with a small frown and she scurried away once more.

"I see you have met Charlotte," Eomer commented after a brief silence, a hint of a question in his voice. No doubt his cousin wished for his approval.

"A fine woman," Theodred commented; he had found her somewhat strange and was concerned by her apparent fear, but thus far had no objection to his cousin forming an attachment to her.

"She is indeed," Eomer agreed, his eyes still following her form as she moved down the hall.

"Her accent is strange," Theodred said mildly, stealing his tankard back from Eomer while he was distracted. "Lake Town, I hear?"

"That is what she has told the people of Aldburg."

Theodred nodded slowly. "And what has she told you?"

Eomer did not reply, a deep frown marring his face as he turned to look at him.

Theodred sighed. "I will not press you cousin, I would not wish for you to lie to me."

"Gandalf has asked me to protect her," he admitted, pitching his voice so that no one would hear.

That was curious. Despite his father's anger at Gandalf for taking Shadowfax, the Wizard had always been a friend to Rohan. That said, the ways of Wizards were mysterious and strange - clearly Charlotte was no ordinary woman.

"You know the laws of strangers in this land and it is clear she is not from these parts," Theodred reminded him,. "You said you intended to propose to her. Being your wife and thus a woman of Rohan would grant her protection."

"Give me time," Eomer teased with a smile, though there was a troubled, doubtful look in his eye.

"You may not have it." His cousin looked at him questioningly. "Grima Wormtongue has spoken of inspections of each Marshal's seat."

Eomer cursed softly. "Thank you for the warning," he said grimly, his eyes moving towards the door Charlotte had vanished through once more.

Theodred nodded; delivering this news was half the reason he had made the journey to Aldburg in the first place.

"Now, let us speak of lighter matters. Tell me of this school here in Aldburg that you wrote to me of."

* * *

Eomer frowned as he searched for Charlotte. He hadn't found her in her room, the study, or the kitchens. It only made his concern for her grow. She had not been herself since Hollantide, but Theodred's sudden presence in Aldburg seemed to have particularly discomforted her. He wondered if it was because Theodred would no doubt become king of Rohan in the coming years. He wondered if she had knowledge of his future as well.

He approached the stables next. They appeared to be empty at a cursory glance through the doors, but a small, muffled sound caught his attention.

He entered the cool, dimly lit stables to investigate. He worked his way down the stalls, glancing in each of them.

As he approached Raefen's stall near the end of the stables, the horse whickered at him and bobbed her head, half turning to look behind her.

Looking over the door of the stall, Eomer was stunned to see Charlotte curled up in a tight ball between the wall and a hay bale. Her head was buried in her knees as she tried, with little success, to stifle the sobs wracking her body.

"Charlotte," he called with no small amount of alarm. He opened the stall door and hastened to her side. His hands landed heavily on her shoulders as he knelt before her. "Charlotte, are you hurt?"

She didn't lift her head, her hands moving to cover her face. She shook her head to indicate no even as her crying grew louder.

"Charlotte, what's wrong?" His voice was gentle as he tried to tilt her face up to look at him.

"I - I want to go _home_," she sobbed, the desolation in her words cutting him to the core. She resisted his efforts to make her look at him and curled up tighter into herself. "It's too _hard_. How can I - but I _have_ to. It's not _fair_, it's just not fair."

"Charlotte …" His hands hovered over her shoulders, at a loss of how to comfort her in such distress.

She finally looked up, her hair disheveled and her cheeks stained with tears, though it seemed like she didn't even see him there before her. "Why did it have to be me?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "I shouldn't just - just _let_ it happen, I _can't_ -"

"Breathe," Eomer soothed as she cut herself off with another gasping sob, her breaths coming far too quickly. "Breathe, my love."

"I should change things," she hiccupped, her misty gaze fixed over his shoulder. "I have to stop it, I have to … _Fuck_, but what if it goes wrong?" Her eyes focused on him, a look of sheer panic on her face. "I could ruin _everything_. The smallest change could send everything spiraling and I don't -" she cut herself off with another gasp, gulping for air. "Eomer, I don't know what to _do_."

There was a pause. Eomer brushed the back of his fingers against her wet cheeks, drying her tears. He cupped her face with both hands. "What can I do to help?" he asked softly.

Charlotte took several deep breaths before she raised her teary eyes to his. "Can you just … hold me for a moment?"

He pressed his lips to her forehead in a tender kiss. "Forever, if you wish it."

Carefully, Eomer shifted to sit on the stable floor and gently pulled Charlotte into his lap, her legs draped over his. He wrapped his arms around her and she curled her small body into him, sniffling as she buried herself into his chest and started to cry once more.

Many long minutes passed in silence as he held her, occasionally rocking her or smoothing his hands over her back. Eventually, her sobs and gasps turned to quiet sniffles and her breathing eased into a regular pattern. The only indication that she had not fallen asleep was the trembling tension that still occasionally wracked her frame.

She shifted in his arms and Eomer tilted her face up towards his own, brushing her tears away once more. "I do not know what it is that has distressed you, but I know that you are burdened with knowledge of the future," he whispered. "It is clear that wars are to come, but know this: there is not one Rider of Rohan who would not gladly give their life to protect these lands."

Charlotte closed her eyes and shivered at his words. "But …" she seemed unable to finish her sentence.

He brought her gaze back to his with a gentle nudge of his hand. "Our role as riders and Marshals is to protect, serve and die in defence of Rohan, if that is our fate. Indeed, to die in defence of this land would be an honour."

She sniffed and wiped an inelegant hand under her nose. "Do you really believe that?"

"I do."

"But to _know_," she avoided his gaze once more. "To _know_ that it's coming and to do nothing. It's like condemning someone to death. You - _your_ -"

She cut herself off and buried herself in his chest once more.

Eomer sighed and looked up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, his hold on her tightening.

So his suspicions were true - he was to die in the wars to come.

"And yet, if I change something and it all goes wrong …" Charlotte whispered into his chest. "I could make things so much worse, so _so_ much worse." She sniffed again. "I just don't know what to _do_."

Eomer smoothed a hand over her hair, down her shoulder and back. "What can I do to help?" He knew that she would not reveal her secrets even if he asked what, exactly, was coming.

"I … please, I think I'd like to be alone for a while." She suddenly started to detangle herself from his arms. "I need … I need to think."

He helped her to her feet since she was as unsteady as a newborn foal. "As you wish, but not here in the cold." He wiped away the last, lingering tears on her face and pressed his lips to her forehead once more, his thumb lingering on her cheek. "Come, let me escort you up to your room."

Charlotte nodded miserably and allowed him to take her hand to guide her out of the stables and back into the hall.

* * *

The sounds of revelry drifted up from the hall. A boisterous impromptu party had sprung up for Theodred's arrival, with Eomer's riders wishing to make their Prince welcome. When Charlotte had crept from her room and peeked over the balcony down to the hall below, she had seen numerous barrels of ale, a group of riders playing instruments and some kind of game being played with great enthusiasm and raucous laughter from the men.

Charlotte had no desire to join in the party, having been sitting in her room alternately crying and sleeping fitfully for the afternoon.

She had been willfully ignoring her knowledge about future events, but with Theodred's arrival in Aldburg, no matter how brief his stay, she felt that she now had a decision to make.

Using the key Eomer had given her, she let herself into the study and lit the candles on the desk. There was a large map of Rohan among Eomer's papers, marked with patrol routes. She spread it out on the desk, pinning down the ends with an inkpot and a wax seal with a horse's head design.

Since she didn't know _exactly_ when or how Theodred would die, knowing only that he fell at the Fords of Isen just before Aragorn's arrival, the only way she could think of to feasibly save him was to tell him of his fate and have him not return to fight at the Fords of Isen in the first place.

As she stared down at the map, she tried to work out what would happen if she saved Theodred.

The River Isen was the main boundary between Isengard and Rohan. Eomer had said that the Fords were a strategic point and that without Theodred there leading the men they would fall and Isengard would be able to conquer the Westfold.

Now, she knew the Fords would indeed be taken and the Westfold would be despoiled by orcs, but beyond the small raiding parties the patrols were already dealing with, that attack would not begin in earnest until after Theodred and the Fords were lost.

If the Fords were to fall sooner, without Theodred there if she warned him away, then the Westfold would be also be conquered sooner than in the original story. Isengard would gain a stronger foothold and the attack against Rohan would come quicker, spreading further and faster.

But more than that, if the lands of the Westfold and likely even beyond were controlled by Isengard, then Aragorn and Gandalf might not be able to cross it to get to Edoras in order to provide the help Rohan would so desperately need.

Her finger trailed slowly from location to location on the map. Charlotte worked through what would most likely happen if Theodred wasn't there to protect the Fords of Isen.

If Aragorn and Gandalf couldn't get to Edoras due to the Westfold having already long since fallen then the battle of Helm's Deep would be lost. Rohan would then not ride to Gondor's aid. Minas Tirith would fall without the Rohirrim's help. That would mean that the Armies of the West would not ride to the Black Gate, which was what would allow Frodo to cross the plains of Mordor and destroy the Ring.

When Gandalf had arrived he had said that in the wrong hands her knowledge could be devastating; she had taken that to mean that she must keep her knowledge to herself as much as possible, so as not to give Isengard or Mordor an advantage if they found out about her., It seems instead that _she_ was the one with the power to ruin everything.

As it stood, Middle Earth would be victorious and so she shouldn't change things.

Theodred would have to die.

* * *

The hour was late, the hall dark and near on deserted.

Eomer paused outside Charlotte's door, having just said goodnight to Theodred. He thought that she would be asleep at this hour, but there was a narrow sliver of light beneath her door. He knocked gently, not wanting to disturb her if she had simply left a candle burning while she slept to chase away the darkness.

There was a soft noise from within and Charlotte cracked open the door with the candle in her hand. She was dressed in her nightgown, her hair loosely braided on one side. Her eyes were rimmed with red, evidence of her earlier tears. She gave him a weak smile.

"Theodred sends his farewells, he'll be off early in the morning," Eomer informed her in a low voice. His eyes scrutinised her face for signs of her former distress. "I wanted to check on you before I go to bed as well. Are you well again?"

"Yes, I was just …" She looked briefly down at the floor, then raised her gaze to his once more. "I was thinking about story stuff and got scared."

Her face was washed out and pale, her words coming out hoarse from crying.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"You could say that," she said with a weak, unamused smile. She hesitated. "I feel like I have been … _sheltered_ here. Meeting Theodred has reminded me of the outside world and of things that are to come."

"You said before that things will get better," Eomer reminded her. He had been clinging to this simple truth himself, especially with his suspicions of his own fate.

Charlotte had a look of determination in her eyes as she nodded at him. "Things will get better, I promise you that. The - the King will lead Rohan into a golden age of prosperity and peace." She hesitated, briefly biting her lip and letting it drag through her teeth. "But …"

"But?"

"But there are battles to be fought and wars to be won before we get there." She sighed and looked him in the eye. "Eomer, I know the future. Things are going to happen and some day you are going to look at me and wonder why I did nothing to stop them, when they could be stopped so easily." Her voice cracked and she dropped her gaze to the floor. "... Someday you're going to - to _hate_ me for it."

His knuckles brushed under her chin and lifted her face to look at him as he stepped closer to her. "I could never hate you, Charlotte."

"You will," she breathed. "I know you will."

He lowered his hand. He was still confused as to why she claimed she would do nothing, even when things could be done. "Why can't you stop these things?"

Charlotte exhaled a soft breath, looking stricken even as she spoke. "Because it could change _everything_."

"I don't understand."

"Let me give you an example," she continued in her troubled tone. "A few years ago I was deciding what I wanted to focus on for my Masters degree, my studies. I'd decided on the Classical World, Ancient Greece and Rome. But one day I was out walking with some friends in Derbyshire. The sign was broken and we took a wrong turning. We ended up at a stone circle and it was beautiful, so fascinating. I decided to change my focus to Neolithic sites … Which meant that I happened to be standing at a stone circle, that weak point as Gandalf put it, which brought me here, to Rohan." She looked at him intently. "Do you see? If that sign hadn't been broken my whole life would have been different."

Eomer nodded slowly.

"As it stands, if I change nothing then we _win_ \- and I don't just mean Rohan, I mean _all_ of Middle Earth. Sauron and the armies of Mordor and Isengard will be defeated." Tears filled her eyes and clinging clung to her lashes.

Eomer's lips parted at her words - he knew from previous things she had said that circumstances would get better, but for the darkness to be completely lifted from Middle Earth was nothing short of extraordinary.

And something that he would gladly give his life for.

"The smallest, most insignificant thing can make the biggest differences," she continued, then hesitated. "I could ... I _could_ stop things from happening, save lives even … but that might mean that _everything_ changes, that we _lose_.

Charlotte gazed up at him, the candlelight caught in her hair and her gaze set with a mixture of determination and abject sadness. "You need to know, Eomer, I have decided that I can't … play God," she said softly, a single tear escaping her lashes to trail down her cheek as she blinked. "The risk of changing things is just too great. This story is already written and I am not a part of it …" She took a deep, shuddering breath, making no move to wipe away her tears. "No - no matter how hard it is for me, I just have to … let it unfold."

* * *

**Not to be too spoilery here, but regarding Theodred … have faith, guys. Charlotte may have decided not to activity change the story, but her very presence means things WILL be different.**

**Big thank you to the lovely Blackaquokat for betaing for me!**

**Also, thank you for your patience with this chapter - the last few months have been beyond hectic for me! One of my colleagues left unexpectedly and we all had to pick up the slack, which meant longer hours during the week. Beyond that, every single weekend since the start of October has been taken up with various family and friend events and commitments and so, before I knew it, it had been weeks since I'd even opened my laptop, let alone done any writing!**

**One of my New Years resolutions is to be a bit kinder to myself, which means saying no to things if I don't want to do them - the last few weeks I have given far too much of my time to others, without taking the time to take care of myself, let alone enjoy my hobbies. It's all about balance, and I'm determined to get a bit more of that into my life!**

**Happy 2020 everyone!**


	14. Yuletide

**Chapter 14 - Yuletide**

* * *

"**Forst sceal freosan, fyr wudu meltan,  
eorþe growan, is brycgian."**

"Frost must freeze, fire melt wood, earth grow, ice form bridges."

Maxims I

* * *

The days following Theodred's departure were taken up with preparations for the Yuletide season, which was to celebrate midwinter and the return of the sun as the days started to get longer once more. Everyone was busy making small, handmade gifts to be exchanged following the longest night as a sign of good will.

Nearly all of Aldburg had ventured out into the cold, making fresh tracks in the snow as they headed towards the woods beyond the walls of the town to gather great armfuls of greenery. Sprigs of holly, ivy or yew tied with ribbons adorned every door in the town and nearly every beam in the hall was decked with greenery, with candles spread liberally.

The Yuletide season also bought the distribution of the quarterly wages for the riders, a process that was made much quicker and more efficient by the small set of scales that Charlotte had bought to weigh out rather than count the correct amount of coins.

The wages were a source of much jubilation between Annwyn and Aldhelm in particular. They were now able to afford a small cottage on the very edge of town, meaning that they were finally able to marry.

A flurry of activity preceded their wedding, which was to be in the days before Yule, supposedly an auspicious time for weddings since the nights were long and spring was around the corner. Between her own duties managing the books and Raefen, not to mention the decorating and distribution of wages and subsequent updates needed in the ledgers, Charlotte found the time to help Annwyn with cleaning the cottage and making final alterations to the dress she had made from the material they had bought at the trader's market some weeks previously.

Charlotte relished the work and the distraction that it provided. She threw herself in with zeal to avoid melancholic thoughts of Theodred and the future threatening to intrude in every quiet moment.

Eomer had said the couple could use the hall for their celebrations, so Maudig and Hollis were busy cooking up a storm in the kitchens of the hall in preparation.

The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear a few days before the Yule festivities. Shimmering frost lined the trees and ground, turning the world to sparking white glass.

Annwyn was stunning as she left her mother's house, a vision of dark blue and silver in her newly made dress, with furs around her shoulders and her combed hair partially braided to flow like a river of gold down her back. In her hands she held a small posy of greenery and white heather picked on the slopes of the mountains, one of the few flowers still blooming in winter. Her cornflower eyes shone with pure joy as the procession of ladies made their way through the cobbled streets of Aldburg and approached the hall.

Charlotte was among the procession, wearing the red dress she still had Hollantide and Eomer's mother's cloak. It was tradition that the ladies of the brides' family escorted her to her wedding and Charlotte was gratified that Annwyn had asked her to be among them.

Aldhelm was waiting on the terrace at the top of the stairs with several other riders, all of them dressed in their armour. Eomer stood beside them in the same formal clothing he'd worn for Hollantide, ready to perform the ceremony since he was the lord. Below them, many citizens of Aldbug congregated in the courtyard to watch the handfasting.

The crowd parted as the procession of ladies approached and Charlotte happened to be looking at Aldhelm as he caught his first glimpse of Annwyn. The young rider straightened up with a wide smile that lit his whole face, as if the sun had just come out. His smile remained as Annwyn climbed the steps and the couple stood together before Eomer.

The ceremony was conducted in Rohirric and so Charlotte had little idea of what was being said, nevertheless she relished the opportunity to listen to Eomer speak in the language that was somehow flowing and guttural at the same time.

Facing each other, Annwyn and Aldhelm clasped hands and stared into each other's eyes as Eomer tied a white ribbon around their hands and wrists. They spoke in Rohirric as he did so and Charlotte got the impression that the two of them were making their vows to one another.

The couple leaned in and kissed. A huge cheer went up among the assembled audience, growing louder as the kiss went on and on. The newly married couple eventually broke apart with a laugh and, their whole faces shining with joy and their hands still tied with the ribbon, led the way into the hall for the celebrations to begin.

The celebration was not nearly so large as Hollantide had been, but had the same festive atmosphere. Annwyn and Aldhelm sat at the high table, Eomer having insisted with a laugh that they take the Lord's position for the evening. Every surface was laden with food, courtesy of Hollis and Maudig.

During the feast Annwyn and Aldhelm purposefully fed each other morsels of bread and took sips of mead from the same cup. Everyone cheered and clapped; noting her confusion, Dernhild quietly informed her that despite the ceremony, the marriage was not considered official until the couple shared bread, mead, roof and bed.

The dancing began and Eomer instantly claimed Charlotte's hand for the first of many lively reels. Before long they parted, both of them dancing with others for several sets, including taking a turn with the bride and groom.

Charlotte was taking the opportunity to sit down and catch her breath between dances when Eomer approached her with a tankard of ale in one hand and a goblet of wine in the other, a fond smile on his face. He handed her the goblet and leaned against the pillar beside her.

"They look happy," Charlotte said with a grin, looking up at Annwyn and Aldhelm who sat at the high table once more, seemingly unaware of the party around them since they were so wrapped up in each other.

"Aye, that they do." Eomer turned to her, his gaze roving over her face. "You look happy also. I fear you have not been yourself of late."

Charlotte gave him a small, sad smile. Since Theodred's visit, she had been purposefully distant with him, avoiding his company and throwing herself into her work as a distraction out of the guilt she felt for her choice in allowing his cousin to die. "It is hard not to be happy on such a joyful day," she answered simply. Such joy would be rare in the coming weeks as events unfold.

He nodded, then tilted his head curiously to one side. "Will you tell me of weddings in your world?"

"Well, it depends on your religion or culture, of course." Charlotte drank enough wine that she could ignore the little voice in her head warning her that the conversation was moving into dangerous waters. "Where I come from, traditionally the bride wears white and her father gives her away, though that's more symbolic nowadays. The couple makes vows, signs documents and exchanges rings -"

"Rings?" Eomer interrupted. He appeared to be listening to her quite intently.

Charlotte nodded and took a sip of her wine. "Then there is a celebration. Food, music, dancing, cake … The bride throws her bouquet to the ladies." She nodded towards Annwyn's small posy of flowers, sitting forgotten on the high table beside her, taking care to keep her voice low so that no one would hear their conversation, even though everyone was too busy making merry to pay them much heed.

"Her flowers? Why?" he asked with no small amount of bemusement.

"The tradition is whoever gets the bride's flowers is the next to be married."

He slowly nodded his understanding, looking thoughtful as he too glanced towards Annwyn's bouquet. "After that the couple often go on a honeymoon, time to just … be together."

"A married couple will drink honey mead every evening for an entire turn of the moon, it brings luck in the marriage," Eomer told her in turn, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

"Not so very different then," Charlotte noticed with a smile of her own.

"No," Eomer said softly, his gaze fixed on her. "No, not so very different indeed."

Their conversation was interrupted as Charlotte's hand was eagerly grabbed by another rider and she was pulled to the dancefloor in a fit of laughter once more.

As the evening wore on Charlotte thought that the celebrations would wind down, but when the hour grew late an undeniable buzz of excitement started to run around the hall.

Hollis, Annwyn's mother, appeared at the doorway of the hall with a ribboned garland of greenery held high on a stick and a wide grin on her face.

Clearly this was a signal of some kind since everyone in the hall rose to their feet with raucous applause and hollering. Charlotte joined them, looking around curiously.

The riders, Eomer included, all raucously came forward and took a deeply blushing and smiling Annwyn upon their shoulders, whereas Aldhelm was surrounded by the women of Aldburg to pull him into position.

They made a makeshift procession, Hollis leading the way with the garland held high. People were loudly singing in Rohirric or playing instruments as they made their way out of the hall and through the town, all the way to the small cottage the married couple were soon to share.

Charlotte hung back briefly as they all started to enter the cottage, gaping in shock - clearly this was some kind of bedding ceremony.

Noticing her lingering at the edge of the procession, Maudig pulled her into the house as well. The one-roomed cottage was filled nearly to capacity with the amount of people in it, but Charlotte could see that Annwyn had been deposited fully clothed atop of the bed by the riders, Aldhelm guided by the ladies to sit down on the other side with space between them.

Silence fell, and with great solemnity Hollis placed the festooned staff on the bed between the blushing, smiling couple.

A great cheer went up and, with much clapping, laughter, ribald jokes and shouting of good natured advice, everyone left the cottage and couple to their privacy.

Charlotte shook her head in quiet bemusement as they started to walk back to the hall. She couldn't help but be grateful that the bedding ceremony had been fairly tame compared to ones she read about in her history studies.

"You do not have such a tradition?" Eomer fell into step behind her, no doubt reading her thoughts on her face.

"No." She thought of how similar traditions had been common within different cultures in her world and how glad she was they had fallen out of style. "I would absolutely hate that."

With the wedded couple left alone, many people now made their way back to their homes or the rider's barracks, the celebrations over. Many cheerful goodnights and farewells were called out on the journey back to the hall until Eomer and Charlotte walked alone in companionable silence.

Charlotte paused at the steps within the hall, realising Eomer was not following her upstairs. "Are you not coming to bed?"

"I'll be there in a moment." With nary a backwards glance, he vanished into the hall, which still bore the evidence of their celebrations - tidying was a job for the morning.

"Goodnight then," she called after him, but got no reply. Shrugging her shoulders and taking a candle, Charlotte headed upstairs.

Scant minutes later, when she was in her nightgown and brushing her hair, a light knock sounded on her door.

Frowning in confusion, she opened it to find Eomer stood in the corridor with a small smile on his face. His one hand held a candle, illuminating the darkness, while the other hid behind his back.

"Yes?" She only said goodnight to him moments before.

Eomer pulled Annwyn's simple bouquet of heather and greenery from behind his back with a small, though formal bow. "For you, min tannen."

Charlotte's lips parted as she slowly accepted the flowers from him, her hands trembling. She remembered what she told him earlier that evening; about the one to receive the bride's flowers being the next to be married; as such, his gift seemed like a very pointed gesture.

"What does …" Charlotte started to ask out of habit, but her voice failed her as she looked up at him.

Eomer smiled slowly at her, the flames of the candle he held flickering over his face and catching in his long golden hair. "What does that mean?" he finished, since she had been asking him the meaning of the endearment for weeks now, only to be playfully refused an explanation each time.

She held the flowers between them, unable to speak.

"It's a Rohirric word," he told her, his voice low in the darkness; he was finally willing to reveal it's meaning it seemed. "I'm not entirely sure of a direct Westeron translation, but I suppose the closest word for _tannen_ is ... _lure_."

Charlotte blinked up at him and frowned, taken aback by the unexpected translation. "As in … _bait_?" She remembered how the old smith had talked of fish when she asked what the words meant. "Like _fishing_ bait?"

"Aye." His smile lingered at her confusion, his amber eyes very warm in the candlelight.

She was completely bewildered. "Why on earth are you calling me _bait_?"

Eomer stepped forward and gently cupped her cheek in one large hand, their bodies nearly flush against each other with the flowers between them.

"Because you tempt me fiercely, Charlotte," he admitted softly, his thumb brushing over her lips and sending her heart pounding in her chest.

"Eomer …" she whispered, unable to find any other words.

"There is something very particular I wish to speak to you about, but it can wait until Yuletide. In the meantime …"

She gazed up at him, thinking he was about to kiss her and not finding it within herself to protest despite all the reasons she should. She closed her eyes, her face tilted up to him, but instead he gently pressed his lips to the centre of her forehead.

"Goodnight, dear heart." He vanished down the corridor to his own rooms, leaving her swaying in her doorway, a bridal bouquet clutched in her hands.

* * *

Accompanied by a group of riders, Eomer rode to Edoras the day before the longest night for the Yuletide celebrations at Medusead.

By long standing tradition, all fires across the Riddermark would be extinguished as the sun went down. At midnight, Theoden King would kindle the hearthfire in the Golden Hall with his own hand, then each of his marshals would carry a torch lit by that fire to their own seats, which the people of the Riddermark would use to relight their own fires.

While Edoras would celebrate at midnight, once the fire was lit, Eomer would ride through the night and Aldburg would celebrate once he arrived with the flame in the morning following the longest night.

Upon arriving in Edoras, Eomer was surprised to find very little greenery decorating the town, even less in the hall. The small, discreet garlands hidden away in corners were beautifully done, no doubt by Eowyn, but the scant number of them somehow diminished the cheer of the occasion rather than adding to it.

Since King Theoden was nowhere to be seen in the hall, Eomer went in search of Eowyn.

He found her in the ladies' solar, busy with closing the books for the last quarter - she had long since moved many of the books to her own private quarters, rather than the study Grima Wormtongue had access to.

He greeted his sister with a kiss on the cheek, then stepped back to look at her closely. "You look tired," he commented, marking the deep shadows under her eyes.

Eowyn nodded. "The last few weeks have been difficult. Theoden King grows weaker by the day. Sometimes he does not even emerge from his chambers, simply laying there in the dark. When he does take his seat in the hall, Grima speaks for him. Sometimes ..."

"What is it?" he prompted her.

She looked up at him. "Sometimes I think that … Uncle does not even recognise who I am."

Eomer pulled his sister into his arms and held her tightly. There was little he could do or say to make Eowyn's situation better. He wanted to bring her home to Aldburg, if only to shelter her, but knew that she would once again refuse to leave their Uncle.

After a long moment, she drew back and surreptitiously wiped a tear from her eyes. "Come now, we are here to celebrate the end of the darkness and the coming of the light once more. We must hope that such symbolism makes an appearance in our own lives as well." She guided him to a chair and poured him a drink. "Tell me the news from Aldburg, brother. How goes the courting of the young woman you told me of when last you visited?"

"Charlotte," Eomer reminded her. He rubbed a hand on the back of his head. "I bought a horse for her, one of the black mares that we drew back from the herds for safety from Mordor. She has been riding her for months and her seat has much improved, but she does not yet know that the horse is hers." He hesitated. "I intend to tell her tomorrow and make my proposal. I'd hoped that you would be returning to Aldburg with me for the Yuletide celebrations so that you could meet her."

Eowyn frowned. "I dare not. Our Uncle is too ill, I cannot leave him at this time." She gave him a reassuring smile. "I shall have to meet her at your wedding."

Eomer nodded, but said nothing.

In all honesty, he did not know how Charlotte would respond to his proposal. He loved her, that much was certain, and he believed she was not indifferent to him in turn. Their relationship had grown easily and naturally, to the point that she was the lady of Aldburg in all but name.

More than that, being married to him would make her a woman of Rohan and thus grant her protection in this difficult time. Yet there were still complications.

He feared she would not want to cleave to him with her knowledge of whatever his fate may be, still fearful of his own death in the wars to come, or that she would still wish to return to her home despite the undeniable bond between them.

Yet his feelings for her had grown to the extent that he felt he could not in good conscience remain silent - he would offer himself to her, regardless of what her response would be, and hope for the best.

* * *

Night had fallen and the Golden Hall of Meduseld was almost completely dark, lit only by a few dim, murky lanterns in the corners.

Crowds of people from Edoras gathered between the pillars, yet not a word was spoken. A cough in the darkness sounded unnaturally loud. Everyone was silent, waiting and watchful.

At long last, as midnight of the longest night approached, Theoden King appeared on the dais beside the throne, leaning heavily on Theodred's arm. Grima was behind them, a scowl upon his face - no doubt the advisor had fought Theodred's right to be at his father's side, the place that Wormtongue usually occupied. Wormtongue stayed beside the throne, his eyes narrowed, as he watched father and son descend the dais.

With slow, doddering steps Theoden made his way down the dark hall towards the cold, unlit hearth in the centre. As he watched, Eomer was struck anew by how old and frail Theoden looked. While he was past his prime, he was not an old man by any means and yet his bearing was that of a man two decades older. Hair that had once been long and golden was white and wiry; a once proud back was hunched; eyes that had seen keenly now had a milky sheen to them; fingers that once grasped and swung a sword were now stiff and unbending.

With great difficulty and much support from Theodred, Theoden knelt before the hearth on the cushion provided. His hands were clumsy with the flint and steel; it was clear after a few weak attempts that he did not have the strength to strike the flint hard enough to produce any sparks.

Grima Wormtongue smirked from where he stood by the throne.

A low murmur ran around the hall - for the king not to light the hearth fire was no doubt terribly bad luck for the country.

Gently, Theodred took the flint and steel from his father. It took but a single strike for sparks to fall on the dry tinder, igniting a small flame. Taking the burning kindling and handing it to Theoden, Theodred quietly urged his father to place it in the hearth, which was built with seasoned wood, dried leaves, and wool to light easily and quickly.

The flame caught. Together, at Theodred's encouragement, the king and prince blew upon the flame to make it spread.

Within minutes cheerful flames in the hearth, casting eerie lights upon the roof and walls of the hall. Murmurs continued among the people of Edoras - behind him. Eomer could hear an old couple quietly wondering what it would mean for Rohan that the young and strong prince, not the old king, had been the one to light the hearth flame, if this was a good or a bad omen for them.

But now was not the time for such thoughts.

Stepping forward with the other Marshals, Eomer prepared to light his torch with the hearth flame. Their horses were all saddled outside, ready for them to ride to their seats around the Riddermark. Eomer had conflicting feelings about this duty; loathe as he was to leave Eowyn and Theoden in the dark of Meduseld, he was glad to avoid the no doubt meagre celebrations in Edoras that would follow the lighting of the hearth.

That, and Charlotte was waiting for him back in Aldburg.

* * *

Charlotte stood on the terrace outside of the hall, wrapped in Eomer's mother's cloak for warmth. It was the early hours of the morning after the longest night. The sun hadn't yet crested the horizon, but the red tinge in the sky spoke of its arrival.

She was not alone out here. Almost the entirety of Aldburg gathered in the courtyard, lining the streets down to the gates. Everyone was quiet, waiting for the arrival of the light.

Due to her high vantage point looking out over the valley, Charlotte was among the first to see the light moving over the plains. Excitement rippled among the citizens of Aldburg, turning to cheering as Eomer and his rider's entered the town.

Before long, Eomer appeared in the courtyard below astride Firefoot, his eored following him. He held a flaming torch in his hand. He dismounted to the applause of those gathered, with Bryde dashing forward to tend to Firefoot, and climbed the steps with the flaming torch.

He entered the hall and thrust the burning torch into the hearth that had been built up.

The applause turned raucous and the people of Aldburg embraced each other. Many hurried forwards with torches and tapers of their own to light them from the hearth fire and before long fires spread all over Aldburg, lighting homes, heating vats of mulled wine and roasting chestnuts. Despite few having slept all night and the sun only just rising, a party atmosphere broke out in the town.

Handmade gifts were exchanged with little ceremony - Charlotte received a woven saddle-mat from Dernhild, embroidered handkerchiefs from Annwyn and Hollis, biscuits from Maudig, and a bridle that had been painstakingly tooled with knotwork by Bryde.

She noticed Eomer stood by himself against one of the pillars, watching the celebrations. There were deep shadows under his eyes, speaking of the long night he'd spent riding from Edoras, and a frown pulled at his mouth beneath his beard.

"You look deep in thought," she said as he approached.

"I am." He sighed, glancing at her before adding, "Theoden did not light the hearth fire."

Charlotte tilted her head. "I thought the king did it."

"He couldn't." She stared at him and he elaborated. "Theodred did it for him."

"Is that a problem?"

"It is nearly unheard of, such a thing has not happened in many lifetimes." He was clearly ill at ease with this himself. "The people of Edoras were saying it was an omen, though for good or ill is yet unclear."

Charlotte frowned at the weary tone in his voice. Hesitantly, she offered up a scroll of parchment tied with a green ribbon, her handmade present to him for the Yuletide season. "Well, perhaps this will cheer you up."

Taking the scroll, he pulled the ribbon free and unrolled the parchment.

Inside was a simple stylized black ink drawing of a horse running, except each line of the horse's body was created from lines taken from the edda of Eorl the Young to form a shape poem.

It had taken her numerous tries and far too many pieces of parchment to get it right, but she was quite proud with the finished result.

"Maudig tried to teach me some embroidery, but it didn't come out well at all," she explained as he stared down at the drawing. "I hope you like it."

"You gave me a horse," Eomer said with a queer, pleased note in his voice. He looked up at her and grinned, his expression very warm. "Come, I must give you your gift also."

He held out his hand and she took it easily, naturally, following him through the celebrations.

"Close your eyes," Eomer said as they reached the courtyard, lit by fires heating the pans of wine or cider or cooking up breakfast foods to be shared by all.

She gave him a playfully suspicious look, but nevertheless closed her eyes and allowed him to tug her forwards.

Even with her eyes closed, she knew the moment they entered the stables - the smell of horse and hay in the cool building was unmistakable - and a laugh escaped her.

Eomer arranged her into position and then stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders and his front nearly flush against her back. "Open," he rasped in her ear, his breath warm on her skin.

Opening her eyes, she saw Raefen looking at them curiously over the door of her stall, apparently wondering what the humans were doing.

"I know the tradition is handmade gifts, but …" Eomer's hands lingered on her shoulders.

"You're ... giving her to me?"

"Aye, I bought her from the herdsmen when we were collecting the autumn rents." There was a distinct note of satisfaction in his voice.

"Thank you." She stepped forward to stroke Raefen's neck, the movement easy and familiar. She looked over her shoulder and grinned at Eomer. "I can't believe we both gave each other horses."

He blinked, opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

"What?" Charlotte asked, noting his expression.

He shook his head and gave her a wry, self-deprecating smile. "Of course, I should have realised that you wouldn't know the significance of such things."

Eomer stepped forwards and took both of her hands gently in his much larger ones. "Charlotte, a gift of horses is a traditional way to seal a betrothal here in the Riddermark."

It was her turn to blink at him, a peculiar feeling inside her as her heart rose even while her stomach sunk like a stone.

"I believe I have wanted you since I saw you in the training yard with a look of sheer determination and the worst seat I've ever seen." Releasing one hand, he brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek, making her tremble. "I do not know how these things are done in your world, but -"

"Eomer, I can't." Panic bubbled up inside her. She shook her head violently, dislodging his hand. "I won't lie and say I feel nothing, but -"

"So you do feel something?" he interrupted, staring at her intently.

"Of _course_ I do, how could I not?" she cried, detangling herself from his hand and taking a step back, trapped against Raefen's stall door. "You are the best man I know and I -"

_\- love you_. She pressed her lips tightly together to keep the words from leaving her head.

Carefully, like he was unsure how she would respond, Eomer stepped closer and took her hand once more.

"Then marry me." His voice was very soft, his touch gentle.

Charlotte shook her head, looking at the ground, making no move to pull her hand back.

There was a long silence between them.

Eomer sighed deeply. "Charlotte, I fear for our situation," he said wearily. "Theodred has spoken of Grima Wormtongue inspecting each Marshal's seat and your presence may well become known." He squeezed her hand, covering it with his other one. "Being my wife would grant you protection, you'd be a woman of Rohan."

"We can't," she whispered with a lump in her throat. She felt wretched as she thought of Lotheriel and Elfwine, the wife and son he would have when the war was won. "I - I know things about the future, _your_ future, and I - we - just can't."

Gently, carefully, Eomer released her hands and cupped her cheeks instead. "Regardless of what my future is, should we not seize this chance of happiness while we can?"

Tears pricked at her eyes. "It's not that simple."

Another long silence, then he nodded slowly.

"I see." He lowered his hands and stepped back from her - the finality of the movement caused the damn in her chest to break.

"I'm _sorry_," she burst out, her breaths turning to gasps as her tears overwhelmed her. "I'm so, _so_ sorry. I never expected -"

Within moments she was enfolded in Eomer's strong arms, cradled against his chest with his hand running soothingly over her hair. "Hush, hush now."

"I should have realised j-just how much you felt. I should have been clearer, put a stop to it all, but … but I was really enjoying getting to know you, it's just so comfortable, so easy, so _right_ and it's not _fair_, none of it, not on you or on me." Charlotte sniffed, trying to gain control of herself. Really, it made sense that he wanted to marry her - he was an honorable and honest man who hadn't exactly been subtle in his intentions, his attentions towards her would not have been for just a dalliance and she really should have dissuaded him, but hadn't out of her own weakness. "And, with what you were going to ask me … I wish I could, you know, Eomer. I _really_ wish we could."

Eomer's hands stilled for a moment at her words, then resumed stroking her hair once more.

For a long moment, she stood in the circle of his arms, allowing herself to be comforted by the strength of his presence and the sound of his heartbeat. Eventually, she drew back with a sniffle. "I suppose you'll want the horse back." She swiped a hand inelegantly beneath her nose, which had dripped as she'd cried.

"Don't be ridiculous," he chided softly, the backs of his fingers wiping away her tears once more. "She's yours." He gave her a small, sad smile. "As am I, always."

Feeling like her tears were about to start all over again, Charlotte launched herself into his arms once more and hugged him tightly as she could around his neck - this wasn't him giving her comfort this time, this was her clinging to him, trying to pour all of her feelings into that single, tight embrace.

He hugged her back, lifting her off her feet in the dark of the stable.

"My lord Eomer!"

An unfamiliar voice calling from the door of the stable caused them to break apart, looking to the courtyard.

A young armoured rider covered in mud appeared in the doorway, looking around hastily - he was about to leave to look elsewhere when he noticed them at the far end of the stable.

"My lord Eomer," he repeated as he approached, heedless of what he was interrupting. "I am Cenric, my lord, from Eothain's eored. Mordor has sent a large raiding party of orcs. Several villages near the Entwash have been destroyed and they are ransacking the east herds. Eothain calls for reinforcements."

Eomer snapped to attention, his whole demeanor tense and serious.

"Spread the word among the men, muster the eored," he ordered.

The rider bowed and vanished from the stables, leaving them alone once more.

"Mordor …" Charlotte whispered, staring after the rider.

Eomer turned to look down at her. She met his eyes unhappily, her emotions turbulent. "It will all be starting soon."

"Charlotte …"

"Go." They did not have time to talk further despite all that was said and unsaid between them. "I know you have to."

He nodded and, despite his obvious reluctance, made to leave her.

"Eomer!" she called after him on an impulse. Stepping forwards, she hugged him tightly once more, holding him far longer than she should. Eventually, she drew back and kissed him on the cheek. "Be safe, please."

With those last words, she watched him as he nodded and left the stables to gather his men, feeling sick to the stomach. Like a walking horse being urged into motion, the war and story she knew were now approaching with galloping speed and she could not - would not - do anything to stop it unfolding.

* * *

The stench of smoke and gore hung heavy in the cold air.

Eomer's eored had ridden past the bodies of scattered horses. The herds had been gutted by the wargs and orcs of Mordor. The beasts had eaten only the heart and liver of the horses they'd slain, wasting the rest, leaving the bloodied corpses spread out across the frosty ground.

Yet the slain horses were only a herald of the death and destruction still to come as they approached the first of the decimated villages, greeted by the wailing of women. Smoke still rose from the smouldering ruins, but the main plume was from a funeral pyre that Eothain and his eored built for the dead of the village, separate to the small, but stinking pile of orc carcasses that they had managed to kill before driving off the rest.

Eomer dismounted from Firefoot, staring in horror at the burning funeral pyre before him. Mordor had attacked before, but always just small raids against the herds and herdsmen. Never in living memory had they destroyed an entire village like this - such a thing had not been heard of since the time of Elendil and Isildur, when the men of Middle Earth had fought against the power of Sauron.

Charlotte had said weeks ago that things would get better, but that first it would get much, much worse.

And then, her soft words in the stable scant hours ago, after the sudden news of Mordor's attack.

_It will all be starting soon._

The thought that this decimation before him was only the beginning of things still to come filled Eomer with cold, undeniable fear.

* * *

**Apologies for the delayed update - real life has been getting in the way! But I, along with much of the rest of England, am currently on lockdown at home due to Covid-19, so hopefully will have some time to dedicate to writing! I hope that you are all staying safe and healthy with the current climate!**

**As always, big thank you to BlackAquoKat for betaing!**

**Reviews are much appreciated :) **


	15. The bitter watches of the night

**Chapter 15 - The bitter watches of the night**

* * *

"_**Gemyne mærþo, mægenellen cyð, waca wið wraþum."**__  
_"_Think of glory, show great courage, keep watch against the foe."_

_Beowulf_

* * *

The days after Yuletide bled into weeks. The weather was bleak and cold as January turned inexorably to February. Driving storms and howling winds swept the plains of Rohan, but still Eomer and his riders went out to patrol. They would return, often days late, soaked to the skin and shivering beneath their armour and cloaks, only to head out again days later.

Charlotte found the distance between her and Eomer agonising. When he was gone she would worry and fret about him being out in the cold, unconsciously mirroring the wives of the other riders, but when he was home she turned quiet and awkward around him. They would gravitate towards each other, like magnets, both of them wanting to be close, but not sure how to be around each other after the proposal she had reluctantly refused. They would talk, but only of inconsequential things, Charlotte avoiding his eyes, Eomer looking at her with what could only be described as yearning.

There was plenty to keep her busy, however. Raids from Isengard, Mordor and Dunland had all increased, sending refugees flooding from the plains to Aldburg, seeking safety. They came with tales of missing herdsmen, destroyed villages and the burning of the Westfold; they told of orcs, Urk-hai, and wildmen, their eyes bleak and haunted as they whispered their stories.

The town was crowded and food was scarce, already having been rationed at Charlotte's advice to protect against the impact of war. There were already murmurs of future starvation in the town, the people of Rohan worried what would become of them if they could not tend to their fields and farms.

To make matters worse, influenza swept through the town. It was a chill that caught in the lungs, the worst cases burning with fever, aided in its spread by the cramped conditions.

Without realizing it, Charlotte was very much acting as the lady of the hall would in these times - when not tending to the ledgers, or Raefen, or teaching basic reading and arithmetic to the citizens of Aldburg (her class sizes had increased with the new arrivals), she was out and about in the town, dispensing medicines and food to needy families and seeing to people's comfort.

She returned to the hall early one afternoon with an empty basket, Eomer's mother's cloak wrapped tightly around her for warmth against the cold sleet, and called for Maudig. She failed to notice the unfamiliar horses in the courtyard as she passed them.

"Maudig?" She set the basket down near the door and shook the water out of the hem of her cloak.

Maudig came hurrying out of the hall, wringing her hands in her apron. "Oh Charlotte, child. I thought ye were gone." Her face was pale and her eyes wide, as if she was trying to tell Charlotte something.

"I was. I was helping Godwin and Mildred with dropping off the feverfew and wormwood to families when I met some new arrivals." Charlotte didn't catch the old cook's agitation as she hung her cloak to dry and knocked the mud from her boots, intending to make her way over to the fire in the hall to warm up .Maudig would not appreciate her trekking mud everywhere. "They are a family of herdsmen, coming from the plains and seeking shelter. I've already spoken to Osgar, the farrier, and he says he can give them room in his stable, but it will be cold and cramped. I thought we could donate some of our blankets from the stores and -"

Charlotte abruptly cut herself off as she entered the hall. A group of unfamiliar men sat at the table, all of them staring at her - clearly the message Maudig had been trying to convey.

A man with lank black hair rose slowly to his feet, a gleam of what looked like triumph in his pale eyes. "It sounds like you have things well in hand here … my lady."

"Can I help you?" she asked with the faintest tremor in her voice. Eomer's warning about dealing with strangers echoed in her mind.

"That remains to be seen." The man gave her what could almost pass for a smile, warped by the bluish tinge to his lips. "Your name, my lady?"

She thought about lying for a moment, but Maudig had already called her by name within earshot of these men. "Charlotte. And I am no lady, I just help around the hall."

"A curious name ... Your accent is strange also." The pale eyed man laid a single, long white finger thoughtfully across his lips, studying her carefully, the way a bird might study a worm before striking. "You are not a woman of Rohan, I think."

Maudig spoke up from behind her. "Our Charlotte's from Lake Town, but she's been here many months now." It didn't seem as though she fully understood the situation, but was determined to help anyway.

The trepidation Charlotte felt at this unexpected meeting turned to an icy trickle of fear down her spine - Eomer had said that being a woman of Rohan would grant her protection of sorts, and Maudig had just confirmed she was not from here.

"Many months ... Since, perhaps, early autumn?"

Charlotte did not know how to reply to this - she knew that Sauraman had been searching for her and, if this man was who she suspected him to be, she didn't want to confirm a timeline for how long she had been here.

"And Lake Town, you say? You are far from home," he continued when she didn't reply, his voice slow and ponderous. "I have an acquaintance from Lake Town, a man named Randel … Perhaps you know him?"

This was clearly a trap - if she said yes, he might simply be making up the name, thus proving her to be a liar, whereas if she said no it implied that she was not familiar with the area or its people.

"I am afraid I am not familiar with the name, but that is no surprise. Lake Town is not the small and quaint little backwater that many imagine us to be," she replied, deciding to utilize what knowledge she could recall from _The Hobbit._ "What with Dale, the famed toy market of the North, and the Kingdom of Erebor on our doorstep, not to mention trade with the Woodland Realm just up the forest river, we are far larger than many expect."

The man gave her a small, tight smile. "Quite," he agreed, looking at her with veiled suspicion.

"I didn't catch your name," Charlotte said as politely as she could.

"My apologies." The man took her hand, his fingers uncommonly cold, and bent over it, his pale eyes never leaving her face. "Grima Wormtongue, at your service."

"A pleasure," Charlotte lied, her stomach clenching in fear as her suspicions were confirmed.

Wormtongue released her hand and straightened up, plastering what probably passed for him as a pleasant look upon his face. "Tell me, Charlotte of Lake Town … Are you aware of the laws of Rohan regarding strangers in the land?"

"She ain't no stranger," Maudig interrupted once more. "M'lord Eomer bought her a horse months ago, when he were doing the autumn rents. All the riders were talking about it, making bets on when he would make his offer." The old cook looked at her apologetically, her eyes wide as she twisted her apron fretfully between her fingers. "Has he given you the horse, child?"

"At Yule." Charlotte's voice slightly strangled - she hadn't realised Eomer's purchase of Raefen and it's subsequent implications were common knowledge among the riders. "He gave Raefen to me at Yule."

Maudig beamed at her, genuinely delighted to hear this. "Aye now, I knew it would be so." She turned back to Wormtongue, her smile exchanged for a stern look. "Now ye ken well what that means, don't ye, m'lord?"

For the first time, surprise and unease were evident on Wormtongue's face. "You are to marry Lord Eomer?"

"That she is." Maudig defiantly stuck out her chin. "Dancing around each other for months they were, and our Charlotte will make as fine a lady as our Theodwyn was years past, just ask anyone in the town."

"Well now …" Wormtongue turned to look at Charlotte, his face unreadable. "That does change things."

Charlotte swallowed, her hands clenched into fists behind her back - she felt trapped, backed into a corner with no way out. "So what brings you to Aldburg," she asked in an attempt to divert the conversation.

"I am here for inspections on each of the Marshal's seats. I will begin by looking over the books for Aldburg." He pressed his thin, bluish lips together in what could almost be considered a smile. "I understand from your cook here that Lord Eomer is currently on patrol."

"He is." She hoped she wasn't making a mistake in confirming that he wasn't here, but could hardly lie and say that he was since Wormtongue would no doubt demand they fetch him.

"What a pity to have missed him, especially when it seems congratulations are in order." His voice rang with insincerity. "Show me to the study."

"I'm afraid the study and all upstairs chambers remain locked in M'lords absence," Maudig informed him.

Wormtongue nodded to the ring of keys on her belt. "But you have the chatelain, do you not?"

Maudig blinked and started picking her way through the ring of keys one by one. "Oh dear me, no - these are the keys to the west storeroom, the east storeroom, the silverware, the spare rooms … The spare key for the study is in Captain Eothain's possession. I'm sure ye understand, m'lord, what with the strong boxes and rents up there."

"I see …" Wormtongue turned to Charlotte, his eyes lowered to her belt - Charlotte found herself suddenly grateful that she kept her own key to Eomer's study in a drawer up in her room, out of sight.

He frowned, seeing her belt empty.

"Will ye and the men be requiring food and lodgings for the night, m'lord?" Maudig inquired. "With all the new folk coming into Aldburg I'm afraid we can only offer cramped quarters, naught like what ye are used to, I'm sure, but we can do a hot meal."

"No …" Wormtongue's eyes narrowed. "Since I cannot access the books we will depart now before the weather worsens. No doubt the King will require me at Edoras before long." Once again, he took Charlotte's hand and squeezed it just a touch too tightly in his cold fingers. "This has been a most informative visit. It was a pleasure to meet you, Charlotte of Lake Town … I'm sure I will be seeing you again very soon."

Charlotte watched silently as Wormtongue and his men left the hall - the moment the doors closed behind them, her legs gave out from beneath her and she sat heavily on the bench, her heart racing.

* * *

Charlotte did not leave the hall for nearly a week after Wormtongue's visit.

Eomer's patrol was not due back for some time, but the moment the watchers confirmed that Wormtongue and his men had indeed left the town Charlotte sent the fastest rider that could be spared to find Eomer and tell him of the visit, knowing he would prefer to be told. She had hesitated over the message she wrote for the rider to carry - she didn't actually ask him to come home early, not wanting to call him away from his duties, but the suggestion was implied in every trembling stroke of her pen.

Aldburg was no longer safe for her and Charlotte was frightened.

After delegating the duties of dispensing food and medicines to Hollis and Annwyn, who were happy to assist, Charlotte practically barricaded herself in Eomer's study.

She spent her time feverishly writing. Wormtongue had wanted to see the books and they had been foolish in accurately recording the harvest and rents, not to mention the provisions that they had secretly laid down to carry Rohan through the war. Since they had done it against the King's wishes, had Wormtongue seen the books it would have spelt out in black and white what would essentially amount to Eomer's treason and could be used against him.

And so she was re-writing the books into fresh, blank ledgers.

It was backbreaking work both physically and mentally. The calculations involved in hiding the trail to the secret provisions were strenuous - she had to work backwards for each individual entry, changing specific numbers here and there to account for what had to look like a smaller harvest, not one that had simply been rationed carefully. Her back ached from bending over the books, her hand was near-constantly cramped and she wondered if the ink stains on her fingers would ever come out.

She made the most of daylight when she could, lighting candles once the light faded to keep working late into the night. She barely slept and had taken to locking her bedroom door at night, something she'd never done in all the months she lived here. She also started carrying the small knife Eomer had given her while they were collecting the rents for the first time since returning. There were dark circles under her eyes, her cramped, ink stained hands trembled constantly, and she felt near tears all the time, desperately wishing Eomer would return.

After several days of being cooped up inside the hall. Charlotte could stand it no longer and simply had to get outside despite her fear.

Cautiously, she made her way towards the stables. Bryde had been looking after Raefen for her, brushing her down, mucking her out and putting her into the fields, but she missed the horse - _her_ horse, since Eomer had given Raefen to her.

The stables were dark and cool when she entered, comforting in their familiarity. She sighed at the sight of Firefoot's empty stall at the far end. She paused a moment, wishing Eomer were here, and made her way over to Raefen.

Raefen whickered softly at her, clearly pleased to see her again. She nuzzled her big nose against her chest, nearly knocking Charlotte off her feet, and her large nostrils sniffed softly over her face, her breath hot and smelly.

"I'm sorry I haven't been to see you, girl," Charlotte said softly, stroking down her neck and feeling guilty for neglecting her horse.

Raefen seemed quick to forgive, making soft huffing noises and dancing from side to side in her stall. Charlotte offered her an apple she had snuck from the kitchens and Raefen took it with a single crunch. With Raefen happily munching, Charlotte leaned forwards over the stall and hugged around the horses' neck, still stroking softly.

The stable doors opened, a chill draft of wind whipping around the stables.

"He said ye were a pretty one," a gravelly voice greeted from the doorway. "'Bout time ye showed your face outside the hall."

Charlotte spun around, backing against the door to Raefen's stall in fright. Two men were blocking the doorway to the stables, one of them carrying a short knife, the other a length of rope. They looked like any other men of Rohan, with long, tangled hair, beards and brown clothing that had seen better days, dripping from the sleet outside. She didn't recognise them as citizens of Aldburg, they must have made their way into the town among the refugees.

"What do you want?" Her voice came out as a whisper even while her eyes quested about for another way out of the stables. Her trembling hand rested on the small knife at her belt.

The man with the rope took a step forward. "Ye'll be coming with us, quiet like, and we won't have to hurt ye."

They were still several yards away, so Charlotte took a deep breath and screamed as loudly as she could. "Help, _help_!"

The men cursed and rushed towards her. One of them clouted her around the head with the back of his hand, knocking her to the floor. Raefen neighed thunderously above her.

"Ye little bitch, _quiet_ or I'll stick ye!" the man with the knife shouted, waving it threateningly at her.

Charlotte grabbed her own knife from her belt - she swung it blindly towards the man, catching him in a shallow gash across the stomach.

Snarling in pain, the man seized the knife from her hands and threw it away, while the second man grabbed her by the hair and whacked her head back against the stall door. Pain exploded in the back of her head and stars flooded her vision.

"The master said he wanted ye alive but didn't say we couldn't hurt ye some. I'll get ye back for that cut when we're on the road, ye little bitch," the injured man hissed into her ear as they roughly tied her hands.

Dazed by the blows to her head, Charlotte was only half aware of the loud crash above her. She was knocked sideways as the stall door flew outwards, knocking one of the men to the floor. She opened her eyes in time to see Raefen rearing up. Her hooves stomped on the man while he was down, catching him right on the temple - he suddenly went unnaturally still.

Seeing his fallen companion, the other man cursed loudly. He looked from Charlotte, to Raefen, to the man on the floor, then turned and ran.

"Stop him!" she heard a voice cry from outside the stables.

Disoriented, Charlotte shuffled back as best she could with her tied hands until her back hit the wall of Raefen's stall. She couldn't stop staring at the still and silent corpse. She whimpered and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, just for a moment, trying to think through the pain in her head, white spots in her vision.

"Charlotte!" Strong hands seized her shoulders and she automatically flinched back, her bound hands flying up to protect her face.

"No, no!"

"Charlotte, be still. I'm not going to hurt you," Eomer's familiar voice pierced through the haze of pain and she was able to focus her eyes with some difficulty. He kneeled before her, his hands on her shoulders, a look of abject worry on his face.

"Eomer …" she breathed. She wondered if he was really here or if her head injury was making her hallucinate.

"It's me." His hands moved to carefully untie the rope around her wrists, the warmth of his fingers steady and reassuring.

Charlotte thought she might pass out. "They-they were going to …"

"You're safe, I've got you." He frowned deeply, casting his eyes over her huddled form. "Let's get you inside. Can you stand?"

She took a deep breath and tried to climb to her feet, but wobbled before she was even halfway up. Eomer instantly scooped her up, cradling her easily in his arms. She noticed he was still wearing his armour from patrol. He must have just returned. His clothing was soaked and dirty, nevertheless Charlotte curled into him as much as she was able, sobs fighting to escape her chest.

With consummate care, Eomer bore her through the courtyard that was crowded with horses and riders from the returning patrol, into the hall and up the stairs to the second level. She felt him pause outside her own room, then he carried on to the end of the corridor, to his rooms instead. He gently lowered her into one of the chairs by the unlit fire, his hands lingering as if he was reluctant to let her go.

Once she was safely sitting, he stood up and examined the back of her head. His fingers probed carefully through her hair, making her wince as he brushed a sensitive spot.

"That's a nasty knock you took there, my love," he informed her. "There's no bleeding, but you will have quite the goose egg."

She didn't reply and he came around to meet her gaze intently, kneeling down to put himself at her level and catch her eye. "Do you feel dizzy or sick at all?"

"No," Charlotte whispered, keeping her eyes lowered, clenching her hands tightly to stop the shaking.

There was a long pause, then Eomer lightly took her chin between his fingers and tilted her face towards the light, examining the cheek where the first man had struck her - no doubt a bruise was forming.

He sighed, clearly furious at what the men had done but trying to hide it. Releasing her chin, he took her clenched hands in his own.

"You're trembling, Charlotte."

She sniffed miserably, still fighting back tears. She wondered if it was wrong that she felt so shaken, so _scared_ even though she knew she was safe now with Eomer.

She had never experienced such violence before. There was something so violating about being attacked like that, of being made to feel defenseless, even though she knew it could have been much, much worse.

And she had never seen a man die before either.

She shuddered, thinking of how eerily still the man had gone - she wondered if it made her a bad person to be relieved he was dead.

Charlotte jumped as a cool crystal glass was pushed into her hands. She blinked and realized the glass was filled generously with some kind of brandy or sweet wine.

She finally lifted her head and saw Eomer crouched beside the fire, which had been built up ready and waiting for his return, striking his flint and steel together. Within moments he had a small flame, which he blew to make it catch in the rest of the wood.

His task finished, he looked at her, frowned, and then went to retrieve one of the thick, heavy furs from his bed. He draped it around her shoulders, then sat in the chair opposite her, looking at her with concern. "Drink," he urged her softly. "It will help settle your nerves."

With trembling hands, she raised the glass to her lips - only to jump and slosh the liquid over herself as a knock sounded on the door.

Eomer lightly squeezed her shoulder in reassurance, then stood to open the door. "Well?" he asked whoever it was there.

"One of the men is dead in the stables, the other is being held in the guard room," Winfred reporting from the corridor. "We await your next orders, my lord."

"I'll be right there," Eomer replied, followed by the sound of the door closing with a quiet snick.

He came and knelt before her once more, his hand coming up to touch her cheek. "Charlotte, I need to go and question this man." His voice was calm and reassuring. "I'm going to lock the door behind me and Winfred will stand guard outside. While I'm gone, I need you to stay in here. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes." She certainly had no desire to go anywhere else.

The corners of Eomer's mouth pulled downwards, no doubt worried at the fear evident in her voice. "Would you like me to ask Maudig or Hollis to come and sit with you?"

Charlotte shook her head - she didn't want to be alone, exactly, but Maudig's incessant fussing or Hollis's questions would be too much for her to bear. Eomer's quiet, gentle concern was far more palatable, but she understood why he needed to leave.

"Very well." He brushed his lips against her forehead in a gentle kiss, his hand lingering on her cheek. "I will be back soon."

The moment she heard the door close quietly behind him, Charlotte put the glass of brandy on the table, sloshing more liquid over the rim as she did so, then lowered her face into her trembling hands and finally let herself cry.

* * *

Eomer found Halford, one of his riders, outside the guardroom with his hand on his sword, still wet and muddy from being out on patrol but uncomplaining in his duties. They had ridden hard the last few days, since receiving the rider with Charlotte's message detailing Wormtongue's visit to Aldburg. She hadn't actually asked him to return in her message, but knowing that Charlotte's safety, and therefore the safety of all Middle Earth due to the knowledge she held, was compromised, he had instantly turned back.

They had arrived just in time, it seemed.

"The lads weren't gentle when they caught him, but he is awake and ready for questioning," Halford reported. He handed Eomer a large leather pouch, heavy with coins. "Both men were carrying these."

Eomer opened the pouch - the gold inside would be enough to buy a well sized farm, a small fortune to any man.

"Tell the men to erect a scaffold in the courtyard," Eomer ordered. He had a feeling on how this interrogation would go and what the results would be.

Halford nodded and Eomer entered the guardroom.

He felt a strange sense of deja-vu - the man they had captured was tied to the same chair that he had once tied Charlotte to when he had first brought her to Aldburg, before Gandalf's arrival and explanation. The man was nondescript, typical of the Rohirrim with long, tangled blond hair and beard. The most defining features were the black eye and split lip, evidence of his men's rough treatment during his capture. The man's eyes were downcast, his demeanor defiant and sullen.

Unlike when he had first questioned Charlotte, Eomer did not sit down. He loomed threateningly over the man.

"Do you know the lady you were sent to retrieve?"

The man didn't reply.

"_Speak_," Eomer ordered, his tone ringing with the ominous threat of what would happen if the man did not comply.

"Just a woman," the man muttered.

Eomer tossed the bag of coins onto the table, the gold spilling out, making the man jump. "People are not paid a small fortune to kidnap _just_ a woman."

The man shrugged as best he could with his bound hands, apparently determined to keep his secrets - no doubt he knew that his fate was as good as sealed. There was too much evidence stacked against him.

"Who sent you?" Eomer asked, keeping his voice pleasant.

Again, the man made no answer.

Without warning, Eomer backhanded the man across the face; he spat blood and a single tooth out onto the guard room floor.

"I _said_, who sent you?"

One way or another, he would get answers.

* * *

Night had fallen, the flickering fire casting long shadows across Eomer's bedchamber. Charlotte had long since managed to stop crying and had drunk what was left of the glass of brandy, though she wasn't sure if it actually helped settle her. Instead of sitting by the fire she was pacing, trying to figure out what the attack meant both in the here and now, and for what was coming in the future.

A knock sounded at the door. She paused and stared at the locked door, fearful of who might be knocking to come in.

There was a silence, then another knock.

"Charlotte, can I come in?" Eomer called through the door.

She exhaled a quiet sigh of relief as the tension left her. "Yes."

There was a click of a lock turning, then Eomer pushed the door open. She heard a murmur as he dismissed Winfred, then he closed the door behind him.

Eomer approached her cautiously. "Are you alright?"

Charlotte nodded, instinctively reaching out to take his hands in her own. The knuckles on both of his hands were split and bruised, she noticed. Her fingers traced carefully over the grazes.

"Sauruman knows I am here."

"I won't let them near you."

She didn't reply and Eomer crooked a finger under her chin, tilting her gaze up to his. "Charlotte, look at me." He waited until she met his eyes, his expression fierce and determined. "I swear, while there is breath in my body the White Wizard will not have you."

"I know."

Eomer brought her into the circle of his arms. He was still damp and cold from the rain outside, but she didn't care, pressing herself against him as tightly as she could. His armour was smooth and chilled against her cheek. She imagined she could almost feel his heartbeat through the many layers that separated them.

After a long moment, Eomer sighed above her. "Charlotte … We will need to talk in the morning about what is to be done," he said in a soft voice, keeping her in his arms.

Charlotte wordlessly shifted so that she rested her forehead against the centre of Eomer's chest and held him tighter. She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that everything was now going to change.

Eomer simply held her, his hands moving soothingly up and down her back. Eventually, he drew back ever so slightly to look down at her. "You should get some rest.". His hands rested on her shoulders, his gaze lingering on the dark shadows under her eyes, evidence of her sleepless nights.

Charlotte shook her head. "I won't sleep tonight."

"You must try, you look worn out."

She took a deep breath, raising her gaze to meet his. "Can - can I sleep in here?" She had no desire to be alone.

There was a brief silence, then Eomer nodded once, squeezing her shoulders with his large hands.

"I'll keep watch."

* * *

Dawn broke many hours later. It was an utterly joyless morning, nary a hint of sun to be seen behind the clouds. A chill mist hung heavy in the air between the houses of Aldburg, grey, cold, and murky.

"You are charged with attempted kidnapping, conspiring with the enemy, and treason against Rohan," Eomer intoned as he stood beside the newly erected scaffold in the early hours, a rope looped and ready around the neck of the man who had tried to kidnap Charlotte. "In the name of Theoden of the House of Eorl, King of the Riddermark, I, Eomer, Third Marshal and Lord of the East Mark, sentence you to die."

The lever was pulled, the trapdoor fell away, and justice was served.

Eomer returned to the hall, his steps slow and heavy as he climbed the stairs and walked down the corridor to his chambers. He paused in the doorway, gazing at Charlotte curled up in his bed, sleeping.

He'd not stirred from his chair by the fire until the first rays of light had touched the sky, keeping guard over her through the bitterest watches of the night. Once she had stopped tossing and turning and finally settled she had remained very still, her breathing deep and even, the covers drawn right up to her face.

He approached the bed and sat beside her. He gently laid a hand on her head, stroking her tousled, russet red curls to wake her.

"Eomer?" she murmured before she had even opened her eyes.

"Aye." The backs of his fingers moved down over her temple to touch her smooth cheek.

Her warm hand appeared from beneath the covers, grasping his chilled fingers. "You're cold," she muttered, a hint of complaining in her voice before she woke fully, blinking her eyes open. She sat up, pulling the covers around her. "What's wrong?"

He didn't reply - he stared at her, wondering how an image of such warmth and loveliness could exist on the very same morning he delivered cold death to another.

"Eomer?"

He took a deep breath. "I've killed many creatures, Charlotte," he said plainly. "Orcs, goblins, wargs, even men when they raid from Dunland. But somehow dispensing the King's justice always leaves me feeling … empty."

Her grey eyes widened, her hands reaching out to take his in both of her own. "The man?"

"He will not touch you again."

Charlotte pulled him into a tight hug, clearly understanding what had been done without him spelling it out explicitly for her. Drawing back, she pressed her forehead to his and he basked in her presence, warming and soothing after the cold of the morning.

Her hand crept up to tentatively touch his bearded cheek. "This isn't over though, is it?" she whispered.

He pulled back to look at her and her mouth twisted into an unhappy frown. "You said last night that we needed to talk in the morning about what has to be done." She sounded hesitant about this.

Eomer nodded. "Now that your presence is known there is nothing to stop Wormtongue demanding you appear before the King." He shook his head. "In fact I am surprised he went with such a heavy handed approach first. Since you are not a woman of Rohan, it would have been within his power to have you escorted to the nearest border, never to return."

Charlotte hesitated, then spoke softly. "I think it's because Maudig told him about Raefen."

He looked at her questioningly.

"When he was here. He was going on about the law and strangers in the land, so she told him about how you'd given me the horse." She lowered her gaze, her fingers plucking at the furs on the bed beneath her. "He thinks we're getting married. He probably wanted to act before that could happen."

"I see ... " Eomer rubbed one hand over the lower half of his face. "That does complicate things some."

There was a long, lingering pause, so much both spoken and unspoken hanging in the air between them.

Eomer sighed, turning to face her. "We can get you somewhere safe, away from here. Theodred has connections in Gondor, Dol Amroth would be -"

"I don't want to go," Charlotte interrupted quickly, her eyes going very wide indeed at the prospect. She reached out, taking his hands in hers and squeezing his fingers too tightly. "I don't want to leave you."

Eomer wondered if she understood what it was that she was saying, what she was implying. "Then … you know what must be done."

Her eyes lowered and she briefly bit her lip, letting it drag through her teeth. "We have no other choice really, do we?"

He freed his hand and cupped her cheek, tilting her face to meet his gaze. "You were always my choice, Charlotte. Never doubt that." His thumb swept over her cheekbone and he found himself hating the look of fear and sadness in her eyes. He sighed once more, his breath fanning over her lips with how close their faces were. "I merely wish it was not like this, for your sake."

She sniffed, looking like she was trying not to cry.

Eomer brought his other hand to her face, cradling both her cheeks gently. "I will keep you safe, Charlotte. I swear it."

"I know," she whispered, her hands coming up to cover his own, their foreheads pressed together once more.

After a long moment, Eomer raised his head and pressed his lips to her temple. "We must act quickly." He hated the need for haste when she was already hesitant about this course. "Today, even." He made her meet his gaze, his touch gentle. "Can you be ready?"

"Yes." She nodded in determination, her face pale and scared.

Eomer allowed his hands to linger on her cheeks, kissing her forehead again before getting to his feet. "There is much to be done, I will make the arrangements."

It was his wedding day, after all.

* * *

**Once again, a big thank you to BlackAquoKat for beta-ing this for me!**

**Sorry for the long delay in posting - somehow, despite having far too much free time due to the lockdown, I was just not inspired to write! I've managed to work past the writers block though, so hopefully it won't be such a long wait until the next chapter!**

**I hope you are all staying safe and well during this time!**


	16. A handfasting

**Chapter 16 - A handfasting**

* * *

"_**Swa fulre fæt, swa hit mann sceal fægror beran."**__  
_"_The fuller the cup, the more carefully it must be carried."_

_Durham Proverbs_

* * *

Charlotte sat on the small bed in Eoywn's old room, wrapped in a towel after a hasty wash. She pulled a comb through her damp hair and stared at her red dress laid out beside her - the dress she would wear for her wedding.

She could scarcely believe that it was her wedding day - she was getting _married_ this afternoon, to Eomer, the future King of Rohan.

Eomer, who was supposed to marry the Princess Lothiriel once all this was over.

He'd offered her sanctuary in Gondor, but the thought had filled her with panic and she had vehemently rejected the idea. She knew she would scarcely be safer there, what with the War of the Ring looming above her, but more than that she simply could not stand the idea of leaving him, not with the coming events.

She once heard an expression about there being two great tragedies in life: one to not get your heart's desire, the other to get it.

It didn't seem fair that she was backed into a corner, with marrying Eomer to be her best option of safety. For weeks now a huge part of her had desperately wanted to simply reach out and accept the offer of a life here in Middle Earth, by his side, consequences be damned, but at the same time she'd known it was not hers to take.

The prospect of marrying him was bitter sweet - it was everything she wanted, but at the same time it was just a sham despite their feelings, a ruse to keep her safe and protected from Saruman.

After all, the role of Eomer's wife would be filled by Lothiriel, even if he had yet to meet her.

And she was supposed to go home once the war was finished, even if she no longer wanted to.

Charlotte was startled from her musings by a knock on the door. She called for them to enter and Maudig poked her head inside, a smile on her weathered face.

"I've come to help ye get ready, child." The old cook came bustling into the room, carrying a small stool, her sewing basket, and a large package of folded material. She placed the package on the bed almost reverently and gave Charlotte a secretive smile.

"Now, m'lord Eomer says it is traditional where ye come from for the bride to wear white on her wedding day. He thought ye might like to see this." She nodded to the material with an air of happy expectation, like a grandmother excited to watch a child unwrap presents.

Carefully, Charlotte peeled back the layers of material only to gasp at what she found within.

Laying on the bed, neatly folded within the protective wrappings, was a white dress.

She lifted it carefully, letting the lavender pressed within its folds for freshness spill to the floor as she held it up to inspect the full length.

The dress was trimmed with delicate green and silver knotwork embroidery at the square neckline and the ends of the wide, voluminous sleeves. A separate green and silver belt wrapped around the middle, with the ends of the material hanging nearly to the hem, and a braided silver cord laced up the back of the dress.

"This belonged to Theodwyn back when she was a young woman, long before m'lord Eomer and Eowyn were born. I remember her wearing it for the _Boaldyn_ festival in Spring, when she and Eomund were first trothplighted. She had flowers in her hair …" Maudig stroked the material fondly and looked up at Charlotte, her eyes misty with tears. "Oh, she would have loved ye, child."

Charlotte gazed at the dress - somehow, the prospect of wearing white made this all the more real for her. "It's beautiful ..."

Maudig dabbed her eyes with her apron and then flapped her hands at Charlotte. "Here now, up on to the stool. Ye're a wee thing so no doubt we must bring up the hem. We don't have the time to do it properly, but I can tack it so ye don't trip up."

Before long Charlotte was laced into the dress and up on the stool. Maudig was busy tacking the hem to the right length with small, neat stitches. She had pins stuck in her mouth and hummed as she worked, oblivious to Charlotte's steadily growing apprehension as the minutes to her wedding ticked by.

"Now Charlotte, there is something I wished to speak to ye about," Maudig said when she was nearly finished, breaking the silence between them. "M'lord Eomer has already said there will be no bedding ceremony when he was telling me about arrangements. He says that is not the done thing where ye come from. But I must ask ye, child … has any woman spoken to ye of what to expect for this night?"

"I, uh - yes." Charlotte felt her cheeks redden at the prospect, her imagination vivid. But no, this marriage was pretend, for her protection - Eomer surely wouldn't expect or ask anything of her, no matter how much either of them might want it. _Just pretend, it's just pretend_, Charlotte chanted in her mind, pushing thoughts of broad shoulders, sweat-soaked golden skin and tangled limbs forcibly from her mind. "Yes I do know."

Maudig looked at her carefully and then nodded. "No need to be afeared or nervous." Her voice was calm and soothing as she stood up, conducting final checks on how the dress was hanging. "M'lord Eomer loves ye, as plain as the nose on ye'r face." She gently tweaked Charlotte's nose, drawing a reluctant smile in turn. "He will be good to ye."

Charlotte nodded, finding herself unable to reply.

"He is the best of men, the best of lords, and he will make ye the best of husbands." Finished with the dress, Maudig helped her down from the stool, squeezing her hands as she did so. "And he shall have the best of wives by his side." Maudig cupped her face in warm, weathered hands, wiping away the remnants of the silent tears that had tracked down Charlotte's cheeks while the dress had been fitted. "Smile child," she told Charlotte gently, insistently. "Smile, for this is a blessed and happy day."

* * *

Eomer stood in a pool of dappled green and yellow light cast by the large, round stained glass window at the head of the hall, just beneath the top table. He was dressed in his finest clothes, consisting of black breeches, an emerald green tunic Eowyn had embroidered with gold, white and red at the collar and boots polished to a shine. He reached into his pocket and touched the rings, as if to check that they were still there. Charlotte had mentioned rings as being part of a marriage ceremony in her world and he wanted to honour her customs as best he could.

Eothain waited beside him; as Captain of his guard and second in command, he would be the one marrying them.

Eothain had already been briefed that this ceremony was going to be less than traditional. For one thing, the vows would be spoken in Westron rather than Rohirric since Charlotte only just started to learn their language. But more than that, Charlotte had no family with her to offer a _brydgifu_, a dowry, nor to accept the _handgeld_ he was supposed to offer them in turn to compensate them losing her. The exchanges were more traditional than essential, poorer families married with nothing after all, but he would still insist on presenting her with a _morgengifu_, a morning gift.

The wedding itself was to be small, witnessed only by a few people rather than getting the whole town in on the celebrations. Devan, Halas, Halford, Winfred, Aldhelm and Bryde, all riders that Charlotte knew well from their prior travels, stood ready to watch, flanking the hall on both sides, whereas the ladies would arrive with Charlotte. A small repast had been set out on the tables for them to enjoy after the vows, including the bread and wine that made up part of the marriage traditions.

Eomer particularly wished that Theodred and Eowyn could be here, but there had been no time to send a message - and even if a message could be sent, it was likely they would not have been able to come, what with Theodred manning the northern borders and Eowyn reluctant to leave Theoden in Edoras.

The doors at the end of the hall opened and Eomer's head jerked up.

Maudig, Hollis, Annwyn and Dernhild all entered in their finest dresses, standing in for Charlotte's family to escort her. As they made their way up the hall they revealed Charlotte stood framed in the doorway of the hall.

Eomer thought that he scarcely breathed as she approached him. She was a vision in white, with the hem and long sleeves of his mother's dress sweeping the floor. Her red hair flowed loose and curling down her shoulders and she clutched a small posy of snowdrops in her hands.

Reaching the top of the hall, Charlotte handed her posy to Dernhild and took his hands in hers. They turned to face each other. He could feel the trembling in her fingers, her skin cold, and he instinctively squeezed, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of her hands in a soothing fashion. Her eyes flicked up to meet his for the first time and she managed a small smile despite her obvious apprehension.

He was barely aware of Eothain starting the ceremony. He couldn't stop gazing at her - his bride.

It was only Eothain turning to face him expectantly that made him realise it was his turn to speak his vows.

"I, Eomer, take thee Charlotte to my hand, my heart, my body and my spirit, to be my chosen wife," he said, his voice ringing clear and true around the hall. "I pledge to you my sword and shield, in defence of you and our home. I promise to love thee wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in this life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again." He squeezed her hand, letting his thumbs sweep her skin as if he could convey his love by that small touch alone. "This is my pledge to you."

They all looked to Charlotte.

She blinked, suddenly looking worried. "I … I don't know what I am supposed to say," she whispered to him, her eyes very wide.

He should have realised this - even if the ceremony was in Westron, she would not know the traditional words.

"Repeat after me," Eomer whispered, leaning forwards to speak the words into her ear, breathing in the intoxicating scent of the vanilla she had worn at Hollentide. "I, Charlotte, take thee Eomer …"

With him quietly feeding her the words, Charlotte spoke her vows nary a second behind him. She spoke clearly enough for the others in the hall to hear, but wavered over a few of the phrases, clenching his hands almost too tight as she spoke.

"I, Charlotte, take thee Eomer to my hand, my heart, and my spirit, to be my chosen husband. I pledge to you the first bite of our meat and the first drink from our cup. Yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night, and the eyes into which I smile in the morning." She took a deep breath, hesitating. "I promise to love thee wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in this life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again." She looked up at him and gave him a sad smile, her eyes very bright indeed with unshed tears. "This is my pledge to you."

Releasing one of her hands, Eomer reached into his pocket and drew out the rings. "As I understand it, rings are part of the ceremony where you are from." He held the two rings on his palm to show her.

Charlotte's lips parted as she stared at the rings in surprise.

Both rings were silver and part of the heirlooms of his mother's family, the House of Eorl. The larger man's ring was simply engraved with knotwork, whereas the smaller, dantier woman's ring was set with an amber stone amidst the knotted silver.

When she made no move to take the ring, Eomer picked up the smaller ring and held it out to her. With her breaths coming just a shade too quickly, she indicated the fourth finger of her left hand and he gently slid the ring onto her finger. "With this ring, I thee wed," she whispered as he did so, looking up at him.

The realization that she just fed him the words of marriage from her world touched him in a way he wasn't expecting. He repeated after her, meeting her gaze as he did so. "With this ring, I thee wed."

She then took a deep breath and plucked the man's ring from his hand, repeating the process as she slid it on to his finger in turn.

Eothain guided their hands so that they were clasped together and started to tie a pure white ribbon around them.

"We say this together," Eomer said softly to Charlotte.

She nodded, repeating the words just a beat after him as the ribbon was wound and tied around their hands and wrists. "Blood of my blood, bone of my bone. Flesh of my flesh, heart of my heart. Hand to hand, soul to soul, I give ye my body, that we two might be one. I give ye my spirit, 'til our life shall be done."

The final part of the ceremony was the blessing. Eothain clasped their bound hands in his own. "Now you are bound to one to the other with a tie not easy to break," he spoke, his voice echoing loud and clear around the near-empty hall. "May no evil befall you, on hill nor bank, in field or valley, on mountain or in glen. May you be poor in misfortune and rich in blessings, may you know nothing but happiness from this day forward, now that you are bound as husband and wife."

A round of applause went up from among those in the hall, surprising Eomer since he had practically forgotten their presence, so lost was he in the ceremony.

With their hands still bound by the ribbon, he leaned forwards to kiss his bride.

Charlotte turned her head ever so slightly at the last moment and he found himself pressing a kiss to the very corner of her mouth. He allowed himself to linger, savouring the softness of her skin against him, before drawing back.

She met his eyes and offered a small, apologetic smile, glancing at the watchers still clapping - he nodded his understanding. He assumed that she did not care for such a public display of intimacy.

The moment between them was broken as people flooded forwards to offer their congratulations. Their friends knew the haste of their wedding was to keep Charlotte safe, even if they didn't understand exactly why that was the case, but nevertheless the atmosphere was merry despite the small gathering.

Before long the ribbon binding their hands was untied and they were ushered up to the top table, where bread and wine waited along with the small feast Maudig and Hollis had cooked up on short notice.

Applause rang out anew as Eomer and Charlotte fed each other the pieces of bread and took sips of the wine, the celebrations breaking out in earnest.

Laughter and conversation filled the hall as the evening wore on. None of the revellers noticed how Charlotte gradually grew quieter and more wan, not truly joining in the celebrations. She kept looking down at her ring, touching the amber stone and twisting it around her finger.

"Are you well?" Eomer asked softly.

The sadness and hesitation in her mien while taking her vows had cut him to the core - despite the feelings they shared, he knew that this was too much, too quick for her, hastened only by the need to keep her safe.

"It's all a bit overwhelming," she admitted, her voice catching.

"Would you like to retire?" She turned to look at him, a wary, questioning look in her eyes. "I've already told them there will be no bedding ceremony, that it is not done where you are from. We can leave at any time."

"Thank you for that." She nodded, glancing over the guests once more; the riders were engaged in a drinking competition, the women gossiping together, all no doubt intended to give the newly married couple time alone. "I think I would like to leave soon."

"We can slip away easily enough." He took her hand and squeezed it. "You go ahead, I'll make sure they have enough ale to keep them happy and will follow you shortly."

Charlotte gave him a small, grateful smile before freeing her hand and standing up. She left the white ribbon that had bound them on the table behind her.

Eomer picked it up and wrapped it between his fingers, slowly pulling it free as he watched her go. She was quick and silent as a shadow as she slipped away between the pillars, her white figure vanishing through the hall doors. Her whole demeanor had been troubled throughout the wedding and celebrations, not the typical manner of a bride at all. He swore to himself that he would endeavour every day to make her happy, as well as keeping her safe.

His wife.

* * *

Charlotte stood alone on the balcony, her arms wrapped around herself for warmth as the frigid February wind tugged at her hair and dress.

How strange to think she was now a married woman.

She looked down at the ring on her left hand. She had been shocked that Eomer remembered the brief comment she had made at Annwyn's wedding and thought to get a ring not only for herself, but for him as well. It made the whole thing seem all the more real.

She jumped as a cloak draped around her shoulders. She hadn't even heard Eomer's approach, too lost in her thoughts.

"It is much too cold a night to spend outside, lady wife," he said with an easy smile, coming to stand next to her by the unlit brazier. His arm went around her shoulders, drawing him in to his side as he turned to look out over the dark valley with quiet contentment. His body radiated warmth in the cold night air and Charlotte instinctively huddled close to him. He caressed her shoulder through the cloak in response.

There was a long silence between them.

Eventually, Eomer turned to face her. He pulled the folds of the cloak more snugly around her for warmth, his hands lingering in the material. "Have I told you how lovely you are today?"

Startled, she looked up, finding him much closer than she expected.

One large, warm hand cupped her cheek and Eomer slowly leaned towards her.

Charlotte quickly lowered her head, not sure what to make of him trying to kiss her.

"Sorry," she whispered awkwardly, as if that would fix the ruined moment. "I just … I'm quite tired."

There was a pause, then the hand on her cheek turned into a gentle caress, his thumb sweeping across her cheekbone and fingers skating along her jaw as he released her, taking her hand instead. "Time to retire then."

There was a curious atmosphere between them as he led her back inside, to his own chambers.

The room was warm and welcoming, lit with a roaring fire and several scattered candles. She had slept in here last night after the attack, but everything had been tidied since the morning; the flagstones were clean, the furs on the floor and bed straightened and the brass of the candle holders had been polished to a glossy hue. A pitcher of honey mead and two goblets sat on a small tray on the table. She remembered the couple was supposed to drink it for an entire turn of the moon to bring luck in the marriage.

Charlotte was further surprised to see several of her belongings already there: a small stack of books she'd kept in her room on the table; her outdoor shoes placed neatly next to Eomer's own boots; her cloak hung up on one of the pegs by the door. She had no doubt that she would find her clothes in the wardrobe, were she to look.

Even the small cluster of snowdrops Annwyn gave her for the wedding bouquet sat in a small, earthenware vase in the middle of the table.

"Is everything to your liking?" She turned to look over her shoulder at Eomer, who had been watching her look around the room. He smiled at her, his hazel eyes very warm indeed. "These rooms are now yours as well, wife. You may make any changes that you wish."

Charlotte reached out and touched one of the delicate white snowdrops with the tip of her finger. "I assume that for appearances sake I am staying here then."

"Appearances sake?"

She could hear the shock in his voice and hated that she was the cause. "Well, it's ... only pretend, right?"

There was a long, heavy silence between them until Charlotte could stand it no longer and looked over her shoulder once more. Eomer looked like he had been punched in the stomach, staring at her in something akin to horror.

"Charlotte …" His voice came out hoarse, his expression pained. "Yes, we married to grant you protection, but I would still wish for this to be a true marriage."

"I can't, _we_ can't - I told you we can't." She thought he understood when they had spoken at Yule. Just because she now needed the protection a wifely-status provided didn't mean that there weren't still barriers - namely the fact that he was supposed to marry Lothiriel - between them. "We just have to pretend."

They would pretend until the end of the War of the Ring, whereupon she would have to go home and he would be free to marry who he was supposed to.

There was another long pause, then Eomer spoke once more.

"I would be a good husband to you, Charlotte."

The softness, the gentle pleading, in his voice nearly broke her heart - tears pricked at her eyes and her breath came in a short gasp. "I know you would." She hated herself and the situation, the pain she was causing him. "Any woman would be lucky to have you."

He rubbed one hand over the lower half of his face, still looking pained and confused. "You said at Yule that you wanted this too."

Her voice burst out of her. "I meant that I wanted things to be _different_, that you weren't going to -"

She cut herself off abruptly - she can't say anything, she _was not supposed to change things_.

"Weren't going to … _what_?" Eomer took swift steps towards her, his confusion starting to turn to anger. "What is it that you know of my future that stops you cleaving to me?"

Charlotte shook her head, her eyes on the floor as tears spilled down her cheeks.

Eomer swore loudly in Rohirric and she jumped. "Bema _curse_ me for loving a secretive woman."

He stalked past her to the table, pouring himself a goblet of the honey mead with swift, jerking movements. He raised it to his mouth and drained the goblet in several quick swallows.

The empty goblet was placed loudly back on the table and filled up once again, the noise of his movements unnaturally loud in the silence between them. "Pretend …" he said in disgust, as if the notion personally offended him. He turned to face her with the goblet in hand and let out a heavy, resigned sigh. "Given there was no bedding ceremony, they may well demand proof of our marriage."

"Proof," she said with distaste. "Is our word not enough?"

"Clearly it is not." There was a hint of acid in his voice that she could well understand - to him, her willingness to speak the marriage vows and yet pretend must seem like going back on her word, something particularly offensive to the Rohirrim, who were such a true and plain spoken people.

She pointedly looked away. Her unassailable guilt put her on the defensive, making her tone prickly. "When you say proof, I suppose it means something suitably barbaric."

"In previous generations someone would remain in the room. Nowadays, producing the sheets will suffice."

"You assume that I am a virgin."

The words fell into the sudden silence between them like jagged glass and Charlotte regretted them the moment she spoke them.

"... I confess, that was my assumption." Eomer's tone was carefully controlled when he finally spoke behind her. She refused to look at him. There was the sound of more drink being poured. He came around in front of her and held the second, filled goblet towards her. His mouth was pinched beneath his beard, the corners turned down, his jaw clenched. "Things are done differently in your world?"

Charlotte sniffed and nodded. She took the goblet, avoiding his eyes. She suddenly felt very small and ashamed - not for her past relationships, but for having tried to make him angry.

She suddenly thought of a favoured expression of her grandmothers: '_when you have dug yourself into a hole, the first thing to do is _stop digging_, then you can think about how to get yourself out of the hole_.'

Charlotte felt she had kept digging herself deeper throughout the whole day, throughout this whole conversation, trying to bury her guilt over the situation, which was not helping either of them.

Eomer nodded slowly and drained his own goblet once more. He put it on the table and bent down to draw a small knife from his boot. Charlotte watched warily as he made a small cut on the palm of his left hand, the light catching on the silver of his wedding ring as he did so. He went over to the bed, pulled back the furs, and unceremoniously smeared a little of the blood on the sheets.

His expression grim, he walked past her, filled his goblet once more and sat heavily in one of the chairs before the fire, staring at the flames.

"You're angry with me," Charlotte said after a long moment, the mead untouched in her hands; her words were soft, her first tentative steps on the path to an apology.

"With you? No …" He took a swig of the mead and grimaced as he swallowed. "Well, maybe a little," he allowed, then sighed deeply, suddenly sounding very tired indeed. "I am angry with this whole situation." He turned in his chair to look at her, a frown pulling at his mouth. "I'd wish for you to be happy. I'd wish for you to care for me as I do for you."

"You think I don't? You think that this isn't hard for me?"

He shook his head, perplexed. "Then … just _be_ with me. Be my wife, truly."

"I can't, I told you that I can't. There are things that are going to happen that I simply _can't_ tell you about, things that mean being your wife is … is just not my place." Charlotte tentatively came and sat in the chair opposite him, perched on the very edge with the goblet in her hands. There was another long silence, then she spoke once more. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you want."

"No, it isn't," Eomer agreed, taking a mouthful of mead and holding the liquid in his mouth for a long moment before swallowing and continuing. "What I want is to be able to fully honour the vows that I took today, not mock them by pretending."

"It's all wrong ..." she whispered, staring into her goblet. "I shouldn't even be here, in this world. You should never have even _met_ me. Things would be better if you hadn't, for both of us ..." Her breath caught around the vicious lump growing in her throat, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "I want to change _so much_ of what is going to happen, but I'm scared ... None of this was meant to happen, we weren't supposed to fall in love." A gasping sob escaped her chest, even as she tried to clamp down on her turbulent feelings. She did _not_ want to cry in front of him again. "And - and all of this is now just another reason for you to - to _hate_ me."

The terribly long silence that followed was broken only by her gasping breaths as she fought back tears and the crackle of wood in the fire.

"Go to bed, Charlotte." Eomer's tone was cold and weary when he eventually spoke. His gaze was turned towards the fire, away from her. "I find I am in no mood for further conversation this night."

She stared at him for a long moment, then lowered her eyes. She pressed her lips tightly to try and stop the sobs trying to push past the lump in her throat, hating the dismissive tone in his voice. She raised the goblet to her lips and drained it. The mead was sweet and cloying in her mouth. She stood and put the goblet on the table next to the pitcher with trembling hands.

She found her nightdress neatly folded on the furs of the large bed, almost mocking her with the domesticity of the image. With her back to Eomer, she reached to undo the silver cord that laced up the back of her dress. She could not reach, could not gain purchase on the knot Maudig had tied no matter how she twisted and turned. She tried for well over a minute to undo the knot, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be _out_ of the beautiful white dress, to cast it away from her and ever look upon it again. A quiet, frustrated noise escaped her as her fingers scrabbled with increasing desperation at the back of the dress and she thought she might lose the battle against her threatening tears.

"Charlotte …" Eomer's hand was soft on her shoulder, stopping her near-frantic movements.

Turning, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. All of the turbulent emotions of the last few days - anxiety, fear, resignation, joy, sorrow and guilt - burst out of her.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed into his tunic, clutching him tightly. "I'm so, _so_ sorry."

He simply held her in response, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other moving in soothing motions over her back. He let her cry for several long minutes until her sobs calmed to hiccoughing sniffles. She made no move to let him go, her body trembling in his arms.

Eomer eventually sighed, his breath stirring her hair. "Turn around."

Charlotte did as he asked, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she did so.

With deft fingers, Eomer untied the tightly knotted bow that sat in the small of her back and pulled the laces free one by one. He seemed to move slowly on purpose, the backs of his fingers brushing against the bare skin of her back as he worked, making her breath catch in her throat. He didn't stop until the silver cord pulled completely free. The dress gaped open at the back and only Charlotte holding the front stopped it from dropping to the floor.

"Can you manage now?" His voice sounded deeper than normal.

Charlotte nodded and felt him move away once more.

It was only once she was dressed in her nightgown, Theodwyn's white dress draped over a chair, and half buried beneath the furs on the bed that she dared look at him again. He had resumed his seat by the fire, gazing at the flames with his goblet in hand. "Are you coming to bed too?" she asked quietly, half wishing he would just so she could be close to him, half worried this would spark another argument.

"Nay, I'll stay up a while longer."

Charlotte curled herself into the smallest ball she could, feeling very lonely in the vast, empty bed.

* * *

One by one, the candles all burned out and the only light in the room came from the dying fire.

Eomer sat in the chair before the fire for many long hours, acutely aware of Charlotte most assuredly _not_ asleep behind him as he stared at the flames and felt his ire slowly cool.

His emotions swirled with a mixture of anger, jealousy, and shame at his own actions and assumptions, his thoughts chasing each other in circles.

He was angry that Charlotte had known other men in the past, but at the same time had he not known other women? From the little she had told him of her world, it was clear the customs were different. To judge her by the standard of Middle Earth was both wrong and hypocritical of him.

Besides, intimacies before marriage were not so uncommon in Rohan anyway - many a rider had had to hastily marry his sweetheart after finding out she was in the family way.

Nay, he should judge her by her character alone - a character that he knew to be honest, hard working, and kind.

And yet she had allowed him to believe this marriage was a true one.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his beard, knowing that was not entirely true.

Charlotte had been clear with her initial refusal of his proposal that marriage was not currently an option for them, despite their feelings. Thinking back on earlier that morning, when she agreed to marry him, she had spoken about having no other choice, making no mention of love or affection; _he_ had made the assumption that their marriage was based on what they felt, not only the need to keep her protected.

But more than that, it had grown abundantly clear she knew something more of his fate that she was unwilling to divulge.

He had thought to grasp happiness while he could, but if he was indeed to die then it made sense that she was not left a widow in truth - perhaps even left behind with a babe to care for and no husband to support her.

Yet the thing that haunted him most was the fact she believed he would one day come to _hate_ her - that, and that alone, made him fear what was to come.

Eomer had been so focused on what he wanted, on protecting her and making her happy, that he suddenly realised he had absolutely no notion of how she was truly suffering.

The burden of her knowledge clearly weighed heavily upon her.

He drained the last of the mead from his goblet and rose to his feet. Charlotte's open eyes were like mirrors in the darkness, silently watching him as he approached. He sat close to her on the edge of the bed. "I am sorry."

She propped herself on her elbows to speak to him, lit only by the flickering flames of the dying fire on the other side of the room. "Why on earth are you sorry? I'm the one who -"

He could not help but interrupt her. She had blamed herself enough when the truth of the matter was that the whole situation, even her arrival in Rohan in the first place, was not of her choice or making. "When I first proposed to you, you made it very clear that marriage was not an option despite what we feel for each other. You had a right to refuse and I respected that, even if you will not fully explain your reasons to me." He took a deep, steadying breath. "As I understand it, you know something of my fate that prevents you from being with me as you might wish. It is not your fault circumstances have made it so this is the only safe option for you. I have no right to expect you to be my wife in truth, but know this …" She sat up properly to listen and he carefully took her hand, cradling it as his thumb moved over the ring he had placed on her finger. "You may not hold our wedding vows as sacred, but I do. I am your husband and if there ever comes a time where you feel that you _can_ be my wife then I will welcome you with open arms."

"Eomer …" she breathed, squeezing his hand in turn.

"So, for now we will play our parts. Pretend, as you say. Yes, for appearances sake it is best that you stay in these rooms, even when I am not here … but I will not touch you as a husband does, Charlotte, not unless you wish it." He reached out and lightly touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "You need not fear me."

"I've never been afraid of you." She clutched his hand tightly as if to convey this trust, her eyes wide in the darkness. "You are the best man I know and you deserve _so much_ better than me."

Eomer managed a small smile, his fingers lingering on her soft cheek. "There we must disagree, for I love you dearly and I cannot fathom being with another, whether I deserve it or not." He lowered his hand from her face and took a deep breath. "Does that conclude our first quarrel as a married couple?"

Charlotte gave a startled laugh at his attempt at humour. "Yes, I suppose it does."

He nodded, squeezing her fingers one last time before releasing her hand. "Goodnight then, dear heart."

"What are you doing?" she asked as he gathered a pillow and covers from the bed, pulling off his boots and settling down fully clothed on the furs that covered the flagstone floor around the bed.

"I have slept in far worse places, I assure you."

"But Eomer, this is your bed!" Charlotte looked almost comical with her head stuck over the edge of the bed, looking down at him on the floor in askance. "If anyone should be sleeping on the floor it is me."

"You shall do no such thing."

"I will not kick you out of your own bed!"

"And I will not depose my wife of her rightful place in said bed." He propped one hand behind his head and pointedly closed his eyes, quite comfortably settled on the floor.

"Eomer, please …" He didn't reply. She huffed a frustrated sigh as the silence dragged out and his mouth twitched in response. "Really, I would feel better about this whole thing if I wasn't inconveniencing you."

He couldn't help a snort. "Inconveniencing me," he muttered, amused. No man alive would consider it an inconvenience to have a beautiful woman in his bed, whether he was there with her or not.

There was another brief pause. "It's a big bed, Eomer."

He opened his eyes; Charlotte was still leaning half out of the bed to look down at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

"I do not wish to make you uncomfortable."

"You wouldn't," she insisted. "We slept together - slept close together, I mean - in the stables at the beacon. I don't mind, really ... Please Eomer." He gazed up at her, trying to gauge if she was truly comfortable with this or if, as she said, simply didn't want to inconvenience him. "Please."

He sighed and rose to his feet once more, picking up his bedding and walking to the other side of the bed. He normally slept in far less - indeed, that habit had been one he had hoped to continue - but for tonight, at least, he would sleep fully clothed. There was at least two feet of space between them on the bed once he settled on his back atop of the furs rather than getting in properly. Once again, his hand went behind his head and he stared up at the beams of the ceiling above.

"Eomer?"

He turned his head to look at her; she had rolled over to face him, the light of the dying fire flickering over her red hair.

"I wanted to thank you for understanding … I hope you know that if, by some happenstance of fate, there ever came a time that I _could_ be your wife, with nothing between us, then I - I would _run_ to you." Her voice lowered to the faintest whisper in the darkness. "I … I would give up my world and I would stay here with you, if I could."

Eomer turned to face her properly on his side. "You would stay with me?" he breathed. He could scarcely believe she would give up her world, her friends and her family, to be with him. It was a strange feeling, to have one's heart at once soaring and simultaneously anchored down, weighed heavily by terrible caveat, _if_.

"I would." Her lip caught briefly in her teeth once again. "I … I love you too, you know."

Unable to help himself, Eomer reached out to touch her cheek in the darkness. "I do know ... In a way that makes this harder, knowing I have your love and yet cannot be with you." His fingertips wandered over her cheek and down her jaw before he withdrew his hand once more. "But I trust you, and I trust that you have your reasons for this."

There was another long silence, the only sound in the room their soft breaths and the crackle of the logs in the fire.

"Can I … Can I be closer to you?"

Eomer sighed and opened his arms to her. She shuffled nearer and he drew her close, the top of her head fitting perfectly in the hollow of his shoulder as she settled in his arms. "Sleep, Charlotte," he bade her, his hand shifting down her back. "Things will look better in the morning."

* * *

Grima Wormtongue sat in the darkness of Theoden's study, reading through a stack of letters and messages addressed to the King by the light of a single flickering candle.

A hastily scrawled message had arrived by rider from the Fords of Isen. Theodred's scouts reported a mustering of troops at the gates of Isengard, on the west side of the River Isen. He called for reinforcements at the Fords to bolster his already limited force there.

Well, it was easy enough to divert that request.

Soon the men at the Fords of Isen would be overwhelmed and the Prince would fall - Sauruman had given orders that Theodred should be slain at all costs.

He turned his attention to another missive, this one formally written and sealed with wax bearing the emblem of the House of Eorl.

The letter officially announced the marriage of Eomer son of Eomund of the House of Eorl, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, to Charlotte of Lake Town.

It appeared that his gambit to retrieve the woman had failed. Now she was safely married, into the House of Eorl no less, making her a woman of Rohan. Any attempts to take her to Saruman now would be met with the younger generation of the House of Eorl closing ranks around her, exposing Grima's own loyalties for all of Rohan to see.

Wormtongue knew Eomer would not let her be taken, not when any babe she might carry would be an heir in line to the throne.

He laid a single finger over his lips, thinking hard.

His master had been seeking the person that had arrived through the void for months and it had only been recently they could pinpoint both her location and identity.

If he was right, she had knowledge of the future that could impact this war.

They needed leverage of some sort against her, a way to make her come _willingly_ to them since force was no longer a viable option.

His eyes drifted over to the hastily written scroll from Theodred.

Some minutes later, Grima Wormtongue slipped into Theoden King's bedroom. The King was laying unnaturally still in his bed in the darkness, his clouded eyes wide open and staring up at the ceiling.

"My lord Saruman …" Grima murmured.

"What is it, Grima?" It was Saurman's deep and powerful voice, not Theoden's, that answered him through the mindless vessel the King of Rohan had become.

"The men I sent to retrieve the one you seek from Aldburg have not returned," Grima reported, keeping his voice low. "The woman, Charlotte, has now married Eomer of the House of Eorl."

"So she is now protected as a woman of Rohan and by the House of Eorl," Saruman intoned. Theoden's head turned and clouded, slightless eyes looked at him. "You have failed me, Grima."

Wormtongue ducked his head, trying to show due deference to his lord and master. "With respect, my lord ... I believe I have thought of a way to her."

There was a long pause before Saruman finally answered him.

"Go on …"

* * *

**Next chapter brings us to the start of the events in The Two Towers … Also, just to make you aware, this story is based on a mixture of both the books and films and will draw on both in the coming chapters.**

**The wedding vows and blessings were taken from several different sources, including Scottish vows for those Outlander fans!**

**Once again, a huge thank you to Blackaquokat for betaing!**

**I hope you are all staying safe and well during this difficult time!**

**Leave a review, my lovelies :)**


	17. Where now the horse and the rider?

**Chapter 17 - Where now the horse and the rider?**

* * *

"_**Hwær cwom mearg? Hwær cwom mago? Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa?"**_

"_Where is now the horse? Where the young prince? Where the treasure-giver?"_

_The Wanderer_

* * *

Charlotte awoke the morning after her wedding to find her head pillowed on Eomer's chest, her arms wrapped tight around him. His breathing was deep and even, his heartbeat a steady thump in her ear. During the course of the night one of her hands had slipped up his tunic and now rested on the warm, hard planes of his stomach. One of his hands curled loosely around her shoulder, holding her to him, but beyond that he was not touching her.

She stayed very still, wondering if he was awake.

The previous night - their wedding night - had been a rollercoaster of emotions. Part of her felt drained and weary, exhausted after all the tears she had shed the night before, while the other felt a guilty thrill of waking up in the solid warmth of his arms, of feeling the gentle rise and fall of his torso beneath her hand with every breath he took.

She felt closer to him than ever - both of them had declared their love, Eomer thought of himself as her husband, and she had told him that she would stay in this world if she could - yet at the same time, a vast cavernous distance yawned between them, growing day by day as the events of the War of the Ring grew closer.

Despite the near crippling guilt she felt, Charlotte's determination to do nothing to stop the coming events had not wavered.

Theodred would still die, Rohan would ride to war, and the man she was currently clinging to would become the King of his people, leading them to a blessed age.

Cautiously, Charlotte peeked up at him to see if he was awake.

Eomer was laying with one hand propped behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. There were dark shadows under his eyes. She wondered when he last slept properly - when she thought back, he hadn't slept the night she'd been attacked, keeping watch instead, whereas before _that_ he had been out on patrol, no doubt getting little rest on the cold, hard ground.

He felt her shift and glanced down at her, making no effort to move from beneath her. His hand slid down her arm in a gentle caress. "Ead morgen," he greeted her, his voice rusty.

"Good morning," she replied quietly. There was a long pause as Charlotte simply stared at him, her husband, then she cautiously rested her head against his chest once more. She made no move to get up; neither of them, it seemed, were inclined to break this fragile peace between them.

She could tell it was still early, so she had only slept for a few hours. The bedroom was lit by the pale grey light of a wet and grim dawn. Outside they could hear the bustle of Aldburg waking up below them, the sound of men, horses and chickens in the courtyard as work for the day began.

Eventually, Eomer gave a deep sigh and squeezed her shoulder. "I have something for you."

"You do?"

He detangled himself from her hands and got out of the bed. He walked barefoot over to a chest of drawers. He paused with his back to her, looking in an ornate wooden box. When he turned around he held the chain of a delicate silver necklace dangling from his fingers. The centrepiece was intricately knotted silver that surrounded a small amber stone shaped into a pointed oval, much the same design of her wedding ring. "It is traditional to give a morning gift. Both this and the rings are heirlooms of the House of Eorl."

Charlotte bit her lip; Annwyn had explained morning gifts to her after her own wedding, they were supposed to be given after the consummation of the marriage. "I feel like I don't deserve it."

"Regardless, it is yours." Eomer moved as if to fasten the necklace on her himself, then stopped. He took her hand and dropped it onto her palm instead, closing her fingers over it. "I ask that you wear it, it shows your new status."

She nodded and he squeezed her hand before releasing it. "I'm going down to the training grounds for the morning."

Moving away, he unceremoniously stripped off his fine tunic to reveal the tanned, golden skin of his bare chest.

Charlotte's lips parted as she watched him change; she had seen him in a state of undress before, when tending to his injuries, yet could not help but watch the subtle ripple of the muscles of his torso and back, the skin littered with several scars. It was only when his hands moved to the ties of his breeches, with seemingly no thought to modesty, that her gaze skittered away, her face red.

She heard him pick up his sword from its resting place with the stand containing his armour and dared look up once more, finding him fully dressed in the older, faded clothes he normally wore to spar.

"I'll see you later." The backs of Eomer's fingers skated briefly down her cheek and across her jaw in a light caress and then he left her alone in the room.

Charlotte opened her fingers and looked at the necklace sitting innocently in the palm of her hand. She compared it to her wedding ring; they were clearly a matched set, heirlooms of the House of Eorl, according to Eomer.

Her gaze shifted down to the sheets of the bed she had yet to vacate. The small smear of blood Eomer had left on the sheets as the supposed evidence of their marriage had dried to a dark brown overnight.

She could scarcely believe Eomer had actually _apologised_ to her for their married state, whilst at the same time declaring himself to still be her husband.

_She_ was the guilty party her., She was the one keeping secrets from him.

Even now, she couldn't help but wonder if she was doing the right thing in not changing coming events.

But no, the fate of Middle Earth was more important than her and Eomer's happiness, more important than Theodred's life even.

She had made her choice and she was going to stick to it.

Charlotte sighed and fastened the necklace around her neck. Her fingers lingered on the silver sitting in the hollow of her throat for a long moment before she finally climbed out of the bed to dress.

Time to face her first day as the lady of Aldburg.

* * *

Over the following days Charlotte rapidly discovered that the hardest part about being Eomer's wife was _not_ being his wife.

She had been the lady of Aldburg in all but name for weeks now. Her duties and responsibilities were unchanged. She still spent her days teaching a small cluster of children, seeing to the ledgers and tending to the comfort of the refugees still flooding to Aldburg. The greatest difference was that the people treated her with a touch more deference than before as news of the marriage spread among the townsfolk. She grew used to hearing 'min hlaefdige' and she was greeted by bows of the head or bobbed curtseys.

No, her greatest trials took place in the privacy of the chambers she and Eomer now shared as husband and wife.

Eomer, it seemed, had little concept of modesty within his own rooms. He would not bat an eyelid at getting changed in front of her or washing with the ewer and bowl of hot water and Charlotte's eyes would inevitably rove over her husband's bare skin.

They still shared the bed every night and always ended up sleeping in each other's arms; Charlotte would wake to find herself pillowed on his chest, or facing away from him with Eomer pressed fully up against her back, his arm anchored around her and soft snores in her ear.

She wanted nothing more than to simply kiss him senseless. To be with him fully and _show_ him just how much she loved him.

Several days after their marriage came the day Eomer was due to return to his patrols.

As was expected of her as the wife of the Lord, Charlotte stood on the terrace to see the riders off. It was a cold, grey morning, with heavy clouds threatening rain looming from over the plains. Nearly two dozen armed and armoured riders waited in the courtyard below, their spears like a winter thicket in the chilly air.

Eomer, fully dressed in his armour with his horse-hair helm under his arm, awaited her at the top of the stone stairs to the courtyard. They were in full view of the Eored mounted below and so Eomer slipped an arm around her waist to pull her against him. He pressed a long kiss to her cheek, right at the very corner of her mouth; the angle of his head made it appear to the riders below that he was kissing her properly, if the whistles and hollars of the men were any indication.

She closed her eyes as his mouth lingered on her skin. Her heart pounded quickly as she imagined what it would be like to be kissed by him properly.

Charlotte couldn't help but give him a warm, breathless smile as he drew back, her cheeks rosy with embarrassment at the very public display. Catching her eye, Eomer cast her a quick wink, incongruous with the rest of his face set into a serious frown ready to go out on patrol, but one that told her he knew precisely what effect he'd had on her.

She watched as he descended the steps and leapt onto Firefoot's back with practiced ease. He shouted in Rohirric and the Eored spurred their horses forwards. Within seconds, the courtyard below emptied and the sound of horses hooves on the cobbled streets of Aldburg faded away.

Nevertheless Charlotte remained on the terrace, staring after her husband until the first drops of rain from the grey clouds above drove her back to the shelter of the hall.

She wished that things could be different - she wished for _more_.

* * *

The rain persisted for several days, a deluge that turned the ground to mud and soaked the weary citizens of Aldburg. Still, Charlotte insisted on tending to Raefen and taking food and medicine to the refugees from the plains. On the fourth day of returning to the hall splattered in mud and soaked to the skin, Maudig decided that she'd had enough. She ordered Hollis and Annwyn to start heating the water and chivied Charlotte up the stairs for a hot bath.

Charlotte had quickly discovered upon arriving in Rohan that baths were a rare commodity. The large tub in Eomer's rooms was a luxury due to the effort it took to heat the water and fill the tub. Most days she made do with an ewer and basin. Indeed since her arrival she had only used Eomer's bath a small handful of times, and he often used the bathwater after her.

Maudig brushed aside Charlotte's protests regarding the bath, forcing her to eat something warm while the tub was being filled, and Charlotte's objections trailed off completely when she finally sunk into the piping hot water.

She took her time washing her hair and body with fragrant soap. Finished with washing, she indulged in the guilty pleasure of luxuriating in the hot water, savoring the heat on her skin and allowing it to chase away the chill of the rain outside.

The bedroom door opened and Charlotte looked over her shoulder, assuming it was Maudig coming to check on her.

Eomer stood frozen in the doorway. He was dressed in his armour, but drenched and filthy. His wet hair was plastered to his cheeks, his wide eyes fixed on her.

"Oh!" Charlotte instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, half turning away from him with a loud splash so her back faced him.

"My apologies, I …" Eomer trailed off, sounding dazed.

"I didn't hear the horns." Her skin flushed red, not only from the heat of the bath. There was a long silence where neither of them moved. She was acutely aware of his gaze roving over her bare back. "W-would you hand me a towel, please?"

She heard Eomer slowly crossing the room and a towel appeared in her vision, held gingerly in a dirty and bloodstained hand. Glancing up to make sure he wasn't watching, she quickly stood and wrapped herself in it. She stepped out of the tub, dripping water all over the floor as she did so.

Eomer stood close by, his gaze pointedly averted even while his breathing came quicker than usual. He was soaked to the skin, a fine layer of dirt and soot streaking his face and clothing. His knuckles were grazed and bloodied and black orc blood marred the front of his armour.

"Are you hurt?" Charlotte asked with a frown.

Sensing it was safe to turn around, Eomer looked her way once more. "Nay, I am fine."

She managed a small smile despite the awkwardness of the situation, well aware of her stark nakedness beneath the small towel. It barely covered her thighs and her hair fell sodden and dripping around her face. "The water is still warm, you look like you need that bath more than I do."

Eomer cracked a wry smile at her. "You wouldn't be wrong, lady wife."

He started on the buckles of his armour then and there, and so Charlotte moved across to the other side of the room to give both of them as much privacy as possible.

She could hear him remove his armour piece by piece and then the sound of the door opening. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she saw Eomer dressed in just his soaked tunic and breeches, his dirty clothes clinging to him. He handed his armour to someone in the corridor with murmured instructions, no doubt requesting to have it properly cleaned and oiled. As she watched, he grasped the tunic by the back of the neck to pull it off and she averted her eyes once more.

Moment's later, she heard the thwack of wet clothing hitting the floor, the splash of the water being disturbed and a distinctly satisfied groan.

Acutely aware of Eomer in the bath behind her, Charlotte focused on toweling herself dry to the sound of him scrubbing himself clean. Darkness had long since fallen outside and she had eaten her evening meal while the bath was filled, so Charlotte donned her nightdress.

It was only once she was dressed and rubbing water from her hair with the towel that she dared look over her shoulder once more.

Having finished washing himself, Eomer had his head tilted back against the high edge of the copper bathtub. His eyes were closed and his arms spread out along the rim. She could see the corded muscles in his arms and the breadth of his shoulders as he relaxed in the tub and averted her eyes once more.

Her life really wasn't fair.

"How was the patrol?" Charlotte asked to break the silence. She sat on the edge of the bed with her back to him as she drew a comb through her wet, tangled hair.

"Not good." She heard a heavy sigh and the sound of displaced water behind her, no doubt him getting out of the bath. "Not good at all."

"What happened?"

"An entire village was destroyed, set to the flame. Many were killed even as they fled, run down by the orcs and Dunlings." Eomer crossed into her vision, wearing just a pair of clean, hastily pulled on trousers. His damp skin glistened and his hair was just as wet as her own. He poured himself a drink from the carafe Maudig had left on the table. "We caught up with the beasts and killed them, but it was a massacre on both sides."

He took a mouthful from his goblet and winced ever so slightly, his hand reaching up to touch his shoulder.

Charlotte frowned up at him once more. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Eomer rolled his shoulder in its joint with a grimace. "I think I've strained something in my back. Nothing serious."

"Come here," she said, shifting so she could kneel at the edge of the bed; Eomer cast her a questioning look and she beckoned him closer. "Come here, Eomer."

He put his goblet on the table and approached the bed so he could stand before her, a confused line furrowing his stern brow.

"Sit down."

Shrugging his acquiesce, he sat on the edge of the bed and Charlotte moved to kneel just behind him. She brushed his tangled, wet hair out of the way and carefully placed her hands on his back, his skin very warm from the bath. Eomer visibly shuddered at the touch and she heard his deep exhale of breath. She dug her fingers into the muscle of his shoulders and he groaned.

She paused, her hands on his back. This was crossing into dangerous territory, but she just wanted to touch him, to make him feel better if he was aching. "Is this alright?"

"Bema," he muttered under his breath, then flexed his back, urging her to continue. "Yes, yes it's alright."

Charlotte dug her fingers in once more, feeling slightly guilty as she relished the feeling of his warm, damp skin. For several minutes she allowed her hands to move over his back, rubbing tense muscles. The faint noises that Eomer made whenever she worked her fingers into a knot of tension shot straight to her lower stomach and her own breath caught several times, her imagination for other ways that she might draw such noises from him vivid.

She slowly worked her way down his back and paused when she reached a long-healed scar on his flank. Her fingers lingered on the raised, ropy flesh. "What happened here?"

"Hmm?"

She brushed her fingers against the length of the scar once more by way of questioning again.

"Orc blade. I'd only recently started patrols and didn't yet wear my breastplate armour."

Charlotte's hands moved slowly up his back once more, her fingers trailing lightly, no longer digging in. She revelled in touching him like this, despite the danger of doing so. "And here?" she asked softly, touching a starburst-like scar just below his arm.

"An arrow." There was a distinct huskiness to Eomer's voice and she could feel his breaths coming quickly, his ribcage rising and falling beneath her fingers.

Her touch moved back to his shoulders in an almost trance-like state and Eomer's hands shot out, capturing both her wrists in a firm grip.

He drew her forwards with her arms around his neck, so that her front was pressed to the warmth of his back, her knees just touching either side of his hips. She could feel the stubble of his beard on her cheek, making her breath catch.

"Charlotte …" he breathed with his eyes closed, the side of his face against hers.

"Eomer … We shouldn't …" she murmured, trying to catch her breath - she hadn't meant for it to go this far.

"Because you know something of my future."

She nodded. But she made no move to try and free herself from his grip.

Eomer half turned towards her, so close that she could feel the heat of his breath against her skin. "I swear I will ask no more of you than this, but if I am to die in the wars to come then I would taste your lips just once."

"_Die_?" Charlotte jerked back in shock at his unexpected words. She couldn't go far, her wrists still captured by his large hands. "Eomer, you're not going to _die_."

He abruptly released her and stood, turning to face her with a deep frown.

Charlotte stared up at him from where she still knelt on the bed, horrified at the assumption he had made. "Is that what you thought?" she asked with wide eyes, then shook her head vigorously. "No, _no_ that's not it at all."

She hesitated for a moment, then decided that she simply _had_ to tell him - she already knew that Eomer could be reckless in battle, if he thought he was fated to die then he might not take any precautions at all for his own safety. "Eomer … I know who you're going to _marry_."

"Who I'm going to -" he started to repeat in absolute bewilderment, only for his expression to fall into sudden fury. "Is _that_ what's between us?"

"Yes!" Charlotte practically shouted. She gestured between them, trying to make her point. "And if we were to … it would be like I was helping you _cheat_ on her."

Eomer took several deep breaths as he stared at her in askance, looking like he was trying very hard to control his anger. "You're saying that me being with you - _my wife _\- would somehow make me _unfaithful_? To a woman that I am _not married to_?"

"It's _more_ than that," she insisted, seeing that he didn't understand. "Eomer, I know the name of your _son_." That bought him up short and he stared at her, blinking. "And if you don't marry her then he will never exist and it will be like I - like I _killed_ him."

There was a brief pause. When Eomer finally spoke his voice was quiet and intense. "And what of _our_ children, Charlotte?" His words were like a dagger to her heart, making her picture that which could never be. Golden haired and grey eyed little boys and girls running around Aldburg, being taught to ride by their father. "You would deny them the chance to exist?"

"This story is already _written_, Eomer," Charlotte told him wearily. She lowered her eyes and pushed down the pain of a future she could never have. "You are just ... not supposed to be with me."

Seizing her chin in an iron grip, he forced her to look up and meet his blazing gaze. "You will listen to me here and now, _wife_, for I will not repeat myself," he fairly growled at her. "I am in _love_ with you, I _will not_ marry another."

He kissed her fiercely without warning, his mouth rough and unyielding against her own.

He released her almost instantly and took a step back, stricken at what he had done. "I'm sorry, I should not have -"

It was like a dam had burst inside Charlotte at that single, fleeting kiss - seizing Eomer's shoulders, she dragged him close and kissed him again, consequences be damned.

Eomer seemed frozen in surprise. Then he exploded into movement.

One hand sunk into her damp hair, tilting her head to better access her mouth, deepening the kiss, while the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her even closer against him. The difference in their heights with Charlotte still kneeling at the edge the bed was a problem for only a moment; Eomer picked her up and practically tossed her back among the pillows, their mouths parting for scant seconds, enough for her to gasp a quick breath before he joined her on the bed, covering her body with his and kissing her deeply once more.

Charlotte instinctively spread her legs, allowing him to settle between them, his hips wedged firmly against hers. Her hands roamed over the bare skin of his back and shoulders, her nails digging in, drawing him even closer.

Eomer simply kissed her for a long moment, then his mouth moved to place kisses down her neck, making her gasp and arch into him.

"God, I want this. I want this so much …" She felt his hardness pressed against her core between the layers of material separating them. "But we shouldn't …"

"Tell me to stop," Eomer murmured in her ear, his voice hoarse. The hand that wasn't bracing his weight above her mapped her body, ghosting over her hips and waist before cupping one breast. Her nightdress provided little cover as his rough, calloused thumb swiped over her pebbled nipple through the thin material. "Tell me to stop and I will."

She whimpered, knowing that she _should_ put a stop to his, but he swallowed the sound, kissing her once more.

She pulled him even closer in response, her hands moving to tangle in his long, golden hair to hold him to her. He pressed her back into the pillows and her legs rose to lock around his waist, pulling him even tighter against her, any thoughts of protest pushed from her mind.

Someone knocked loudly on the door.

Charlotte turned her head to look at the door, breaking the kiss, but Eomer simply moved to place open mouthed kisses to her collarbone instead, his beard a delicious scratch on her skin. He moved his hips purposefully against her in a way that had her gasping, even with the layers of material separating them.

Another knock, louder and more persistent this time.

"Eomer -"

"Leave it," he rasped in her ear, letting his teeth briefly catch on her earlobe. His hand was now beneath the hem of her nightdress, sliding up the back of her thigh and drawing the material with it. She decided that ignoring the door was a fantastic idea, her own hands moving to the waistband of his trousers.

The knocking turned into a closed fist pounding repeatedly on the door with growing urgency. "My lord Eomer!" a man called from outside.

Eomer's hand stilled on her thigh and, after a moment's pause, he sighed long and deep into her neck, his breath scorching her throat. "I swear to Bema I will _kill_ whoever is at the door."

He reluctantly detangled himself from her and stalked shirtless from the bed, his trousers low on his hips. He threw the door open, letting it bang off the wall. "_What_?" he snarled at the young rider who had been knocking.

"My lord Eomer, a rider from the Fords of Isen."

Charlotte, who had been slowly rising from the bed and trying to catch her breath while readjusting her nightgown, abruptly froze at the words, ice flooding her veins.

"What news?" Eomer pressed, his tone less angry, more urgent.

There was a rushing in Charlotte's ears and blackness crept around the edge of her vision. Her fingers clenched in the bed sheets beneath her, her knuckles white. Bile rose in her throat and she thought she might be sick.

"Our forces at the Fords of Isen have been overrun and orcs are moving freely through the Westfold."

She had actually done it, actually allowed Theodred to be killed without doing anything to save him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she put her forehead down to her knees and wrapped her arms around her head. She wondered if she might pass out. She suddenly felt like she couldn't _breathe_.

The rider's next words filtered through the muffled prison of her arms.

"Grimbold is dead. Prince Theodred has been captured by the enemy."

Charlotte's head jerked up. Had the rider said Theodred had been _captured_?

There was a beat of silence, then Eomer spoke once more.

"Muster the Eored and see to my horse. We ride immediately for Edoras,"

Her heart beat too fast, blood pounding in her ears. Surely the room must have been spinning. Her whole body trembled and white spots danced in the edges of her vision, her eyes unfocused, staring at nothing.

She didn't understand - Theodred was supposed to be _dead_.

"Did you know of this?"

Eomer's voice was soft, almost dangerously quiet. Still, it was like an inexorable force, making her reluctantly focus her gaze to look at him with wide eyes, still hunched over at the edge of the bed.

He must have read something of her guilt and anguish in her expression since the wary, watchful look he was giving her gradually turned to horror.

"You _knew_ …" he breathed, staring at her as if he had never seen her before. "You knew what was coming at the Fords of Isen …"

"Eomer …" Her voice came out choked and hoarse, her throat so tight she felt that she was being slowly strangled. She didn't _understand_. Where had she gone wrong? Things had _changed_ and now Theodred was still alive. What did that mean for the story she had been so determined to leave untouched? "Eomer, I -."

"You knew … You knew that Theodred was going to be captured and you did _nothing_!" His horror was turning quickly to anger, his voice rising to a shout. He crossed the room in three quick strides, seizing her by the shoulders, dragging her to her feet and shaking her. "You would abandon him to torment and death in the dungeons of Isengard, _my cousin_?"

"He wasn't supposed to be captured," Charlotte said weakly. She felt sick and dizzy, her mind still trying to work out what exactly had happened.

Eomer's hands softened almost imperceptibly on her shoulders at her words. There was a long pause between them and she was aware of Eomer's gaze intent on her face as she stood limply in his grasp. "What was supposed to happen?"

She stared blankly at a point over his shoulder.

"Charlotte … What was supposed to happen to Theodred?"

She swallowed hard past the lump that had formed in her throat and finally looked at him once more. "He … he's supposed to be _dead_."

Eomer released her shoulders, jerking away as if the touch of her skin had burned him, staring at her in renewed horror. His hands clenched into fists by his sides, his whole body practically vibrating with tension, like a coiled spring. "So you were going to let him die?"

Charlotte swayed without him holding her upright. She could feel herself growing faint as her guilt, fear and confusion threatened to overwhelm her. "I _told_ you I couldn't change anything, I _told_ you -"

"I ride for Edoras, I must speak to the King."

He stalked about the room, dressing quickly and gathering his things.

Still unsteady on her feet, Charlotte reached a trembling hand out to him. "Eomer, please -"

"Do _not_ touch me," he hissed, catching her wrist in an iron grip to stop her. His eyes, normally so warm, were blazing with cold hatred. "I do not even recognise the woman before me." He tossed her wrist away, looking down at her in acute disgust that cut her to the core. "In fact I find myself suddenly glad that this was not a true marriage after all, _wife_."

"Eomer -"

He left, slamming the door loudly behind him.

Charlotte's legs gave out from underneath her and she collapsed into an ungainly heap on the floor.

_What have I done? _she thought, staring at the closed door.

* * *

Eomer stood stiffly in the Golden Hall of Meduseld. He wore his full armour with his horse-hair helm under one arm and his hand unconsciously resting on the hilt of his sword. He was angry - he was more than angry, he was incandescent with rage - at Charlotte for her secrecy, at himself for trusting in her, at Theoden for his infirmity and most of all at Saruman for the violation of his beloved land.

But more than that, he was deeply, _deeply_ worried.

He knew full well what orcs did to their prisoners.

Theodred was strong, the strongest and bravest man that he knew, but even he would beg for death before the end.

Death was apparently predestined for him, already written in a story from another world.

_Theodred was supposed to be dead._

The thought rattled through his mind, whipped up like a wind that picked up debris, swirling it around and then scattering it where it fell, leaving chaos in its wake.

He could scarcely believe that Theodred was supposed to be dead - that Charlotte had planned on _allowing it to happen_.

The battle at the Fords of Isen and subsequent capture of Theodred had been a positively crippling blow for Rohan. Their forces were scattered. Morale was low as news spread across the land. The river had been their last defence and now orcs would be free to roam across the Westfold in force.

And still, Theoden King would do nothing.

Never had Eomer seen a man so changed - so old and infirm looking - than the King he had once known.

Theoden sat stiff and hunched on his throne, his clouded eyes half lidded. His skin was grey, papery and translucent in the low light. He didn't seem to even hear the words Eomer and Eowyn spoke, let alone understand them.

Eowyn knelt beside the throne and took Theoden's hand in her own, stroking his fingers gently.

"Your son has been captured in battle, my lord," she said softly, trying to get through to him.

_Theodred was supposed to be dead, yet_ _he had been captured and not killed._

Theoden's head lolled towards her and he murmured weakly, his words indistinguishable.

Eomer did not have time to wait upon an old, crippled man, not even his beloved uncle and King. Upon arriving in Edoras he had been told of a band of orcs travelling from Emyn Muil towards Isengard - if the black land of Mordor and Isengard were united against them then not just Rohan, but the entire world of men would fall, no matter what Charlotte said.

He wondered if she intended his country to fall - she had always been secretive about their ultimate fate, feeding him platitudes about the King leading them into a golden age of peace without giving him details of the sacrifice they would make to get there.

_Theodred could not have led Rohan to peace if he was dead._

"If we do not defend our country, Saruman will take it by force."

"That is a lie." Grima Wormtongue emerged from the shadows like a wisp of foul smoke, poisoning the air with his words. "Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally."

_Saruman would have killed Theodred, his cousin was supposed to be dead._

Theoden mumbled again, half turning towards Grima.

"Orcs are roaming freely across our lands. Unchecked, unchallenged, killing at will."

Wormtongue was about to speak over him, but Eomer did not let him. He knelt before the throne, looking up into Theoden's withered face. "There is news of a large band of orcs heading across the plains, from Emyn Muil towards Isengard. Let me take men and ride out after them," he entreated the King. "I will bring you _proof_ of Saruman's treachery against us."

_Even now he holds Theodred as a prisoner._

"You shall do no such thing," Grima intoned and Eomer turned his cold gaze to him. "You have already abandoned your post to come here. Were you in Aldburg as you should be, you would have been present when my message arrived. You and your new wife are called to give an accounting of your marriage and seat." Grima raised his chin, looking down on Eomer with half lidded eyes. "You will immediately return to Aldburg to bring both her and the books of Aldburg before the King for a reckoning."

Eomer rose slowly to his feet, his hand once more upon his sword. He and Eowyn briefly shared a glance before he turned his gaze back to Wormtongue. "And what of Theodred?"

_Theodred was alive._

There had been no news - no ransom, no demands, no despoiled body of the beloved Prince left prominently to further lower the country's failing morale.

"The issue of Theodred will be dealt with in due time." The look Grima gave him was almost triumphant, the shadow of a smirk twisting his pale lips. "You have your orders, my lord Eomer."

Eomer's hand tightened on his sword hilt, his jaw clenched as he stared at the tableau before him: Theoden hunched and frail upon his throne, Grima Wormtongue standing and speaking for the King, Eowyn pale and marble faced as she knelt at Theoden's side and holding his stiff, unbending fingers, trying to reach the man inside.

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the hall, allowing the doors to slam shut behind him.

Eomer stopped on the stone terrace surrounding Meduseld and gazed out over Edoras and the plains of Rohan beyond.

He couldn't believe things had grown so bad - Theodred had been captured, orcs roamed freely in Rohan, Theoden sat like a corpse on the throne, and Wormtongue held complete power in the Golden Hall.

_Things are going to get much worse before they even _start _to get better_, Charlotte's voice whispered in his mind.

_Let this be it_, he thought in response as a chill wind whipped around the terrace, catching in the flags, making them flap in the strong breeze. _Let this be it, for my people will not survive if things continue to get worse. _

Eomer knew that with Theodred captured and Theoden all but infirm _he_ was the most senior Marshall in the Riddermark - Grima Wormtongue may hold power in the Golden Hall, but the Riders would follow _him_.

One thing was certain, he would not be returning to Aldburg, to his treacherous wife and her secrets.

No, he would bring proof - undeniable proof - of Saruman's treachery back to Edoras. Orcs were crossing the plains from Emyn Muil to Isengard; he would track them, kill them and bring proof back to the King. He would _muzzle_ Grima Wormtongue if he had to when he returned and, if Theoden would still do nothing, then he would muster the Rohirrim himself to fight for Rohan.

_And I will bring Theodred home._

He was the only member of the ruling House of Eorl that could now act - and with that thought fueling his determination, he called for his men in preparation to ride out towards Fangorn Forest.

* * *

Charlotte paced the stone terrace of Aldburg, her thoughts a swirling maelstrom in her head.

She had intended from the start to simply stay out of the events of the War of the Ring. Gandalf had told her to keep her knowledge to herself and that was exactly what she had planned to do in order to preserve the story. No matter the pain it caused her and others, she had fully intended to do nothing, to stand back and turn her head away from the coming events.

For the greater good.

_But now _… she thought to herself, wringing her hands.

Now Theodred had been captured - that particular piece of news had been confirmed by the women wailing in the streets of Aldburg and the dark murmurs of the men that Rohan was going to fall.

Theodred had _not_ been killed at the Fords of Isen.

Things had _changed_.

Because of her?

Charlotte didn't know; she couldn't see how she could have somehow changed Theodred's death when she had intended to do nothing about it.

Nevertheless, things were now different - that much was indisputable.

Things were changing, which meant that things could get _worse_ \- which meant that they could _fail_.

And Charlotte had knowledge that could now be used to _help_.

She desperately needed to speak to Eomer - but would he even come back to Aldburg before the war began in earnest? Would he ride straight to Helm's Deep from Edoras, and from there on to Minas Tirith and the Black Gate?

Would she even see him again before the end of this war?

Standing at the edge of the terrace with the wind catching in her hair, she pinched the bridge of her nose as she thought about what she knew of the story.

She had read the books, seen the movies - but there were discrepancies between the two of them. She had not given it much thought before - she had intended to turn away, after all - but now those differences might be vitally important.

In the books Eomer had been imprisoned rather than banished. He had fought at Helm's Deep alongside Aragorn while Erkenbrand, another of the Marshals, had been the one to ride in at the last moment.

She needed to know how things were going to unfold, she could no longer just sit in Aldburg and do nothing.

"M'lady?" Bryde said from behind her, making her turn to face him. The lad held a letter out to her, sealed with an overly large blob of red wax bearing what she recognised as the emblem of the House of Eorl. "A rider from Edoras with a letter for ye."

She seized it with a quick word of thanks and broke the wax eagerly, thinking that it must be from Eomer because of the seal.

It was not from him. It was from Theoden King.

Or, more likely, written on Theoden King's behalf and then signed by him; from the way the King's signature trailed off weakly at the end she very much doubted Theoden had been aware of what had been put before him to sign.

The missive was written in formal language, complete with elegant calligraphy and illumination on the first letter of each paragraph.

It requested the presence of both Eomer and Charlotte before the King. They were to bring the books of Aldburg to Edoras for an accounting of their seat. But more than that, the validity of their marriage was to be examined since they had married without Theoden King's permission.

Charlotte scrunched the parchment in her hand, thinking hard.

As Eomer's wife and a woman of Rohan she was now protected: legally speaking, she could not be sent away unless she committed a crime. She was under no illusions that Saruman would simply give up trying to get her. This was no doubt some plot of Wormtongue's in order to get her to Edoras.

However Edoras was now exactly where she needed to be.

Eomer had always said that Edoras was not safe for her, but she knew that Gandalf and Aragron arrived in the days after what was supposed to be Theodred's death.

_Surely_ this was the turning point. _Surely_ Theoden was about to wake up.

She could not stay in Aldburg. She had done nothing for long enough.

Within half an hour, a set of saddlebags had been packed. She had the books of Aldburg, the ones that she had painstakingly rewritten to hide the trail to the excess supplies, jammed in the bags along with the bedsheet from their wedding night that Maudig had folded and put into storage, the smear of blood Eomer had left on the sheets still evident in the middle.

On a whim, Charlotte also packed the clothing from her own world she had worn when she first arrived. The jeans and flannel shirt had been folded up and put away in the bottom of a drawer, but now she added them to the few changes of clothes that she packed into the top of the saddle bags.

"Where do ye think ye're going?" Maudig's stern voice stopped her as Charlotte walked through the hall towards the stables.

Both Maudig and Dernhild were in the hall, sitting with cups of tea as they sorted some bundles of herbs. The old cook's gaze moved from Charlotte's riding clothes, to the cloak around her shoulders, to the saddle bags in her hands and finally to the small knife at her belt. Maudig's stern expression dropped to one of concern. "Oh Charlotte, child … M'lord Eomer says ye are not safe outside Aldburg."

Charlotte dug the crumpled parchment out of her pocket and held it out to them. "I have been summoned."

Dernhild took the letter and scanned it with a frown. "You cannot ignore a summons from the King." She gave a deep sigh and nodded at Charlotte, looking troubled. "I'll arrange an escort for you, you can't go alone."

Charlotte was grateful for this, mostly since she didn't actually know the way. "Will you look after things here?" As Eothain's wife, Dernhild was one of the most senior ladies in Aldburg. She had also done the books for several years before her twins were born, she knew how things should be run.

Dernhild nodded, her expression grim.

"Things might get bad," Charlotte said, looking between the two women. Aldburg had never been particularly mentioned in the books as far as she remembered, but that didn't mean it would be safe. "I don't know what's going to happen to Aldburg, but I do know that Isengard is attacking. Post extra men on the walls, bar the gates, anything you can think of."

"But where _are_ ye going, child?" Maudig insisted.

"Edoras." Charlotte took a deep, steadying breath, straightening her spine - she had knowledge that could _help_, she would no longer turn away. "I'm going to Edoras."

* * *

**You didn't really think I was going to kill Theodred, did you? **

**And so Charlotte has finally had the realisation that her very presence means that everything is different, now on to the plot of the Two Towers … **

**Once again, a big thank you to BlackAquoKat for betaing, parts of this chapter fought me tooth and nail and she was a massive help ironing out the kinks!**

**Also, a big thank you for all your lovely reviews - keep them coming!**

**I hope you are all staying safe and well, love to you all! **


	18. Wingfoot, I name you

**Chapter 18 - Wingfoot, I name you**

* * *

_"**Yrre oft amyrreð monnes mod þæt he ne mæg þæt riht gecnawan."**_  
_"Anger often disturbs a man's mind so that he cannot see the right."_

_Old English Dicts of Cato_

* * *

Eomer and his Eored quickly picked up the orc-trail. The beasts had cut a great swath of dying grass and churned up mud through the plains, heading North-west from Emyn-Muil towards Fangorn Forest and Isengard. They were easy to track; in fact, it disgusted Eomer that the orcs were so brazen as to cross nearly the width of Rohan in broad daylight with not the smallest attempt at stealth.

The riders attacked under the cover of night. The foul beasts were busy devouring the flesh of one of their own and so the Eored took them by surprise. The battle was swift as the mounted riders cut through the orcs, though they still lost fifteen riders and twelve horses in the fighting.

Per Eomer's request, one of the Uruks had been captured alive. It had been no easy task and resulted in numerous injuries for his men, but nevertheless the fell beast was on its knees, restrained, and held at numerous spear points when Eomer dismounted Firefoot to question it.

The Uruk snarled viciously at him as Eomer carefully cleaned the black blood of its brethren from his sword.

"Answer my questions and I will use you to send a message to your master," he told the beast coldly, aware of his men shifting uneasily around him.

The Uruk spat foul bile at his feet and his rider's closed in tighter with their spears.

"Prince Theodred was captured in battle at the Fords of Isen." Eomer raised his chin, staring down at the beast. "What does the White Wizard want with him?"

Deep, gurgling laughter answered his question. "Captured was he?" The Uruk grinned viciously, showing pointed and rotten teeth still stained with the blood of the orc they had devoured. Its voice was deep, rough, and rasping, its large mouth not formed to easily speak the tongues of men. "I heard the orders were to _kill_ the runtling prince at all costs. Been trying for weeks, they had."

So Theodred _had_ been supposed to die. Why then had Saruman captured him instead?

Charlotte had clearly been surprised by the news. But more than that, she had always said that she intended to allow the story that she knew to unfold. Something had changed and Eomer had to find out what.

"What changed?"

"Don't know. Sent to meet these scum, wasn't I?" The Uruk jerked his head towards the rapidly growing pile of bodies ready to be burned, seemingly undistressed at the sight of his murdered brethren. "He'd be valuable though, oh yes … Bet you horse-scum would hand over the crown and keys to your thatched barns just to get him back, heh heh heh." Another grin, the Uruk leaning as far forwards as his bonds and the spears would allow, so close that Eomer could smell the rotten fetidness of its breath. "'Course, you might not get _all_ of him back. Mouths to feed and all that." The Uruk laughed again at the disgust and anguish on the faces of the riders, a deep and wet sound that came from the back of its throat. "Wish I was there. Tell me, do runtling princes taste better than -"

Eomer decapitated the Uruk with a single stroke of his sword.

Within moments the Uruk's head was jammed on to a spear set into the ground, next to the pile of bodies ready to be burned.

He hadn't lied when he said the Uruk would be used to send a message - its head would stand as a warning to the enemies of the Riddermark.

Eomer stood beside the burning pile of carcases as the first hints of a red dawn lit the sky behind him. He held the Uruk's helm in his hand. The White Hand of Saruman was blazoned across the poorly made metal, clear proof of Saruman's treachery.

Theoden King would listen to reason - or Eomer would muster the Rohirrim himself.

He was aware of Eothain coming to stand beside him, having finished supervising the digging of graves for the fallen riders some distance from the pyre.

"Their orders had changed," Eomer informed his friend and captain. His eyes fixed on the pale, flickering flames licking their way over the foul bodies, consuming them. "Theodred was taken for a reason."

The Uruk had said Theodred was valuable. That much was obvious. But as the prince and heir of Rohan, Theodred held greater value to the enemy if he was dead for the crippling blow to morale his death would deliver to Rohan than as a prisoner. The Uruk had spoken of what they would give to get Theodred back; Eomer knew precisely what Saruman would ask for.

"You said months ago that Saruman was seeking your wife." Eothain's words echoed his own thoughts. "Wormtongue knows she is in Aldburg after his visit."

"Aye, I know."

A terrible suspicion had taken root in his mind of what the White Wizard planned, for why Saruman had changed the orders against Theodred to capture instead of death.

A trade - Theodred for Charlotte.

His cousin and prince, the heir to the throne of Rohan, for his wife, whom he loved desperately despite her secrets.

He may be utterly furious with her and not understand _why_ she had been determined to allow Theodred's death, but he still had no desire to hand her over to Saruman. Not after months of keeping her hidden and protected. Not after swearing in oath to protect her from harm in their wedding vows.

It was a choice he could not - _would not_ \- make.

"Come, we ride for Edoras."

Eomer turned to mount Firefoot once more, tying the Uruk's helm to his saddle. Within moments the entire Eored mounted. They left the site of the battle and the foul beasts burning behind them.

Their horses thundered Southwards across the plains as the sun rose higher into the sky. They had just crested a hill when an unfamiliar voice hailed them in the common tongue, the words carrying loud and clear on the wind whipping across the grassy plains.

"Riders of Rohan, what news from the Mark?"

* * *

Eomer was still stunned as he and his company approached the gates of Edoras at a canter many hours later.

Legends had sprung to life from the very grass itself - the sight of Aragorn, the heir of Elendil, standing clad in Elvish raiment with his sword blazing like a sudden flame in the bright sunlight of the plains was one that would stay with him for the rest of his days.

Aragon's companions were no less strange: an Elf-prince of the Woodland Realm and Dwarf of the fabled halls of Erebor.

They had claimed to be tracking some Halflings, prisoners of the Uruk-Hai his company had destroyed. They had travelled many leagues on foot in precious few days, so Eomer gave Aragorn the name Wingfoot rather than Strider, as he had first introduced himself.

The law on strangers within the land was clear. Eomer knew he should have brought the strange travellers before the King, but he found he could not hinder the heir of Elendil in his quest to find his companions. More than that, he had given them the horses of their fallen riders to speed them on their journey, fueled by Aragorn's promise that he would come to Edoras and assist them in the wars to come once he concluded the search for his companions.

The heir of Elendil standing alongside the House of Eorl would bolster the flagging morale of his people. They would muster the Rohirrim and fight to drive Saruman and his foul armies from these lands.

With his thoughts on the White Wizard, he could not help but turn his mind to the news Aragorn had given him.

Gandalf the Grey had died in Moria.

Charlotte had claimed that she wished to stay with him if she could, that she would forsake her world for him, but Eomer could not help but wonder if she now had no choice but to stay. The Wizard who had promised to send her home had fallen, surely she was now stuck here.

Eomer was not sure how to feel about that; his thoughts ranged from sorrow for the Wizard's death to a guilty thrill that he might keep her as his wife.

The streets of Edoras were chill and quiet as Eomer made his way up the stairs to the Golden Hall to give his report to King Theoden.

Hama, the doorwarden, gave him a long and searching look upon his approach. No doubt the doorwarden was aware that Eomer had ridden out against orders. Nevertheless, he allowed him to pass into the hall without comment.

The hall was dark and quiet despite it being full daylight outside. Small pools of sickly grey light dappled the floor but failed to light the corners of the room. Even the hearth fire was nearly extinguished, only a few glowing embers lighting the centre of the hall.

Eomer strode down the length of the hall with the Uruk's helm in his hand, aware of the figures moving in the shadows between the pillars. Wormtongue sat on a small chair beside Theoden, who was still stiff and corpse-like on the throne. There was no sign of Eowyn.

"So, you rode out against the express orders of the King," Wormtongue said by way of greeting, his displeased voice like a poisoned slick of oil.

"The King gave me no orders. You do not speak for him," Eomer said sternly to Wormtongue, in no mood to bandy words with the snake. He threw the Uruk's helm at Wormtongue's feet, the white hand stark on the dark metal. He addressed his next words to Theoden. "The orcs that my Eored slew near Fangorn Forest all bore the White hand of Saruman. But more than that I bring tidings, my King. I was not the only one tracking the orcs. I met a party of three travellers. They -"

Wormtongue was quick to interrupt him. "You mean to say that you allowed strangers to enter our land without permission? That you did not bring them before the King?"

"Be silent, _worm_, or I shall cut out your tongue." It was no empty threat, Eomer would do whatever it took to silence him and muster the Rohirrim to fight for their lands.

There were dark, quiet murmurs around the hall at his words - they came dangerously close to breaking the peace in the hall.

Eomer knelt before the throne, looking up into Theoden's withered face. "My Lord King, the heir of Elendil has returned to the West. I saw him with my own eyes, along with his companions. They were clad in the raiment of the Elves and hold the favour of the Lady of the Golden Wood herself. The sword that was broken is reforged and gleaming, ready to stand alongside us. Now is the hour, we must muster the Rohirrim and ride out in force to drive this evil from our lands."

There was a ringing silence in the wake of his strong words.

Theoden King gave no sign that he even heard him. He sat hunched on the throne. His eyes were clouded and unseeing, his mouth hanging partially open. Were it not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, he would have all of the appearance of a corpse.

Eomer knew in that moment that his beloved King was well and truly lost. He doubted that he would ever hear his uncle speak again. The mere idea of the man Theoden had once been reduced to his current state stirred grief within him.

_He_ must now lead the Rohirrim, until such a time that Theodred was returned to them.

"You must not lay these troubles before the King, news of spirits and broken swords," Wormtongue's words dropped like poison into the heavy silence. "Can you not see he is wearied by your malcontent? Your war mongering?"

"War mongering?" Eomer repeated in a low, tight voice. His thoughts fell on the fifteen riders he just buried, on the village he had seen set to the flame not days before, and of countless atrocities he had seen on patrols before that, all of them done in Saruman's name. He rose to his feet with an expression like thunder. "The Westfold is burning, orcs roam across our lands and Theodred was captured in battle with Isengard. I am not _mongering_ for war, it has _long_ been upon us!"

Wormtongue's gaze drifted to his thugs that lingered in the shadows between the pillars; the men were not riders, but rather were loyal to Wormtongue and so had been stationed in the hall to enforce his power. "Guards, you will remove Lord Eomer from the hall."

"You have no authority here, your words mean nothing," Eomer warned sternly as the men approached. His hand was on his sword hilt. He was prepared to fight here and now in the hall if needs be.

"Guards," Wormtongue repeated when the men visibly hesitated.

Eomer drew his sword swiftly, pointing it straight at Wormtongue. "I am Eomer, son of Eomund of the House of Eorl, third marshal of the Riddermark and sister-son to Theoden King." His voice rang with the authority granted to him by virtue of both his blood and the high rank he had earned. "You have no power here, Grima Wormtongue, and if you speak one more word then I will run you through."

"You _dare_ to break the peace and threaten death to Grima in my own hall?"

All eyes turned to Theoden King.

Theoden had not changed in appearance: he was still hunched, withered, and frail, his hands stiff and useless as they clutched the armrests of the throne, but suddenly he had raised his head. Furious lines marred his already wrinkled brow. His pupils were a small, sharp pinprick in still-clouded eyes, piercing Eomer with a hateful glare. There was a queer, resonant tone to his voice Eomer had not heard from him before.

"Uncle -" Eomer started to say in abject shock, the sword he held pointed at Wormtongue wavering in his hand.

"Guards, you will take him to the dungeons," Theoden interrupted.

Utterly taken aback by his uncle's orders, Eomer allowed his sword to be taken from him and stood unprotesting as the guards seized his arms in a tight grip.

Wormtongue's men were not gentle with him as they dragged him down to the dungeons beneath Meduseld, despite his lack of struggle. They stripped him of his armour and chainmail with rough hands, punching him several times in the face and stomach as they did so. He was shoved unceremoniously into a small prison cell wearing just his tunic and breeches, all of his weapons confiscated from him.

The barred door closed firmly behind him and Eomer stood stunned in the middle of the cell.

He was both utterly shocked and deeply afraid of what had just happened in the hall above him.

The words ordering his arrest had come from the King's mouth, but he somehow knew with utter certainty that it had not actually been Theoden speaking.

The thought chilled him to the bone.

Eomer rested his forehead against the bars of his cell, closed his eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath, filled with fear and painful resignation for the fate of his King, his cousin, and his beloved country.

* * *

Charlotte found Edoras to be underwhelming.

Despite the circumstances of her arrival, she had been looking forward to seeing the capital of Rohan and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. Instead she was confronted with a quiet and desolate town. She could see the thatch of the hall's roof, but it was dark with moisture from the recent rain, not the blazing gold she had been led to expect.

They slipped unnoticed through the gates. The guards, who were stopping everyone that entered or left to ask their business, did not even question them thanks to her escort of riders. Charlotte found herself grateful for Dernhild's foresight in sending the men with her; she expected she would have had trouble getting through the gates if she was on her own.

Halas went ahead to the hall to discover what news he could while the rest of the group stabled their horses. The news he brought back was unsettling to the rest of her escort, but unsurprising to Charlotte.

"My lord Eomer has been imprisoned," he informed the group in a low, troubled voice. "They say he broke the peace of the hall and threatened death to Grima Wormtongue before the King himself."

"Can you take me to him?"

Halas grimaced, but nodded. "Best we go as secretively as possible."

Charlotte gave Raefen an absentminded pat farewell and followed the young rider. He led her through small, winding back streets of Edoras, between thatched wooden houses of various sizes. They saw few people on the streets. Those they did see watched them suspiciously, some even retreating back into their houses.

They reached a back entrance to the hall located behind the main stables of the town. Crates, barrels and boxes lined the wall beside the door: it was clearly an entrance to storage areas or cellars.

To her surprise, Charlotte found a young woman waiting for them in the doorway.

She was tall and slender, wearing a white dress. She had long, flowing golden hair that carried a gentle wave and fell unbound to her waist. Her eyes were grey rather than hazel, but Charlotte could still detect the similarity to Eomer in the lines of her mouth and nose.

This was, unmistakably, Eowyn.

"Eowyn will guide you from here." Halas nodded towards the lady. "I will go and look for Eothain and find out what is going on."

There was a silence as Halas left. Charlotte was acutely aware of Eowyn scrutinising her with great curiosity. There was a certain coolness to her demeanor, though her strength was evident in the way she held herself.

Eventually, her face broke into the smallest of smiles, like a thin beam of sunlight breaking through clouds. "Welcome, sister."

"I'm not sure I deserve that title," Charlotte said carefully. She could not help but wrap her arms tightly around herself, a nervous gesture. Her lower lip briefly dragged through her teeth. "How much has he told you about me?"

"I know that you are not from Rohan." Eowyn's voice was calm, it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. "And I know that my brother has loved you for many months now. He has spoken of you often." She tilted her head, her eyes keen and bright. "I have wanted to meet you for a long time."

"I've wanted to meet you too, for _far_ longer than you know." Charlotte had always admired Eowyn as a character long before she ever came to Middle Earth for her bravery against the Witch King; every kind word she had heard spoken about the lady since her arrival in Aldburg had only increased her curiosity to meet her.

But more than that, she was Eomer's sister - now her own sister-in-law.

She desperately wanted Eowyn to like her; as such, she did not want to start her new acquaintance with her by lying. Her hand fluttered up to briefly touch the silver necklace at her throat. "I must confess, things are not … entirely as they seem between me and Eomer."

Eowyn raised a single brow and said nothing.

Charlotte took a deep breath, feeling it catch in her throat. Truly, she was not feeling as brave or resolute as she had when she had left Aldburg, but she was determined that she would not allow her courage to fail her. "I don't want to lie to you, but this is not the time or place for that conversation … Can I see him?"

Eowyn nodded slowly. "Follow me, quietly."

She led Charlotte through the storeroom and into the darkened halls of Meduseld, looking carefully down each corridor before venturing forwards. They were lucky in that they didn't see anyone. Before long they reached the dungeons, located in the cellars on the other side of the hall.

"I must go and tend to my uncle. I have left him alone for too long. You are Eomer's wife, the guards will let you through." Eowyn nodded towards the guards standing at the end of the corridor. "I must warn you that your presence will quickly become known here, though I will do my best to protect you from Grima Wormtongue. I hope we will speak more later." She gave her a pointed look, the meaning of her words clear - Charlotte still owed her an explanation.

A murmured word to the guards and Charlotte was allowed through - though she was aware of one of the guards leaving his post, no doubt to give news of her arrival. The dungeons of Meduseld were clearly little used; four small cells set with barred doors, only one of them occupied.

"Eomer?" she said softly, approaching the cell.

He had been pacing, his expression deeply troubled. He looked up in surprise to see her standing at the bars, but made no move to approach. "Charlotte …" he breathed, like he could scarcely believe she was there. Then his eyes narrowed and she noticed bruises on one of his cheekbones. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to come," she insisted, undeterred by the coldness in his voice. She reached through the bars for him, her fingertips just managing to brush his arm. "Eomer -"

"No, do not speak one word to me." He pulled away from her, moving to sit on the small cot at the far end of the cell, as far away from her as he could get. "I have no wish to hear anything you have to say."

"You met Aragorn."

His head jerked up and he looked sharply at her.

"And Legolas and Gimli." Both of her hands gripped the bars of the cell. "It's all starting properly now."

"Your knowledge is extensive, it seems." His voice was full of anger and disgust - but also laced with worry and confusion. "And yet you did _nothing_ to save Theodred from capture - from what you thought was to be his _death_."

"I didn't _want_ to let it happen. It tore me apart, but Gandalf told me I mustn't change things." Her voice was a whisper so the guards would not hear. "And you – _you_ said that any rider would _gladly_ give their life to protect Rohan. You said that to die in service protecting the land would be an _honour_."

"I thought we were speaking of _my_ death!" Eomer hissed, lurching to his feet and approaching the bars, looking like he wanted to grab her and shake her once more. "I would willingly sacrifice myself for Rohan - but Theodred is the prince and heir to the throne, the two are not equivalent."

"I asked Theodred himself." The fact that Theodred had told her from his own mouth that he would willingly die for Rohan was the sole reason she had to justify her inaction. "He said that if he could save but one life then he would gladly step before the sword, he -"

She cut herself off and swallowed hard, her voice catching on the lump in her throat and tears pricking in her eyes.

"... He was supposed to die," Eomer finished wearily, sounding very tired indeed.

"I'm _sorry_ ..." The whispered words seemed paltry, a poor offering in light of her actions. She took several deep breaths and lowered her eyes, unable to look at him. "I did tell you you would come to hate me in the end."

"You did." He sighed heavily and wrapped his own hands around the bars, not quite touching her own. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against one of the bars. It was as if all the fire had suddenly drained out of him, leaving him tired and weary. "And I said that there was nothing you could do that would make me hate you."

"Guess you were wrong." Charlotte felt like her heart was breaking - not only did she carry the guilt from her actions and the confusion as to what would now happen with Theodred alive, she knew she had lost Eomer's love and trust forever.

"I was angry, yes. Furious, in fact. But I … I do not hate you, Charlotte." He opened his eyes and she was surprised to find none of the anger or coldness she had expected. His hand slipped between the bars and the very tips of his fingers brushed briefly against her cheek, his touch warm and familiar. "Quite the opposite."

She was stunned by the implication. "But …"

"I have had lots of time to think on this whilst I have been in here. The reason behind so many of your words and actions in the past have now become painfully clear. I see now the burden you were carrying and … if you are indeed right about the possibility of darkness truly being driven from the world, I know Theodred would have gladly given his life for that cause. Your knowledge has placed hard choices on you." He sighed once again, stood so close with the bars separating them that she could feel his breath stir her hair. "I may have been angry, indeed I still am, but … while I may not agree with your choice, I can see why you made the decision that you did and the struggle it was for you." His hands moved to cover hers where they wrapped around the bars. "I would take back the words I said before, with my deepest apologies."

Charlotte felt utterly undeserving of his understanding and forgiveness. "I was going to let him _die_."

"I had the realisation that if you were _not_ here then I would be mourning my cousin right now." His hands gently squeezed hers. "I believe that Theodred is alive _because_ of you, Charlotte."

"Not because of anything I did."

"But he is alive."

"Alive and a prisoner." She shook her head; she didn't know what effect Theodred's life would now have. "And now … I don't know for sure what's going to happen."

Eomer sighed deeply, looking troubled. "I know you believe we will prevail, but I find that I do not share your faith. Rohan will fall. The King's very _mind_ is overthrown."

She smiled; this much, she hoped, would remain the same. "Not for long."

"Charlotte?"

She kept her voice at a whisper. "Assuming I haven't somehow completely mucked up the _whole_ story, Theoden is about to wake up."

Eomer was stunned. "Aragorn?

She shook her head. "Gandalf."

Eomer grimaced and briefly thumped one of his fists against the bars in a frustrated, powerless gesture. "I am sorry to give you these tidings, but Aragorn told me Gandalf fell in Moria."

"No, he didn't."

Eomer gazed at her with cautious hope flaring in his eyes, though that light quickly vanished when they heard the sound of numerous booted feet approaching the cells. Both of them turned to look in the direction of the sound. Despite expecting this and knowing her time in the cells had always been limited, Charlotte felt a flash of fear, wondering if she was about to be dragged before Grima Wormtongue.

"There are guards coming." Eomer gave her a pained look and squeezed her hands through the bars. "You should not have come. It is not safe for you."

There was no time to say more; the small area between the cells suddenly filled with half a dozen men. All bar one wore the garb of riders, but their leader had intricate, scale armour and carried a large set of wrought iron keys in his hands.

"Hama," Eomer greeted the man in obvious surprise and relief, straightening up. He clearly trusted him not to harm her.

Hama looked between Charlotte and Eomer, eying their hands on the bars of the cell. "Theoden King has ordered that you come to his side."

"_Theoden_ has ordered?" Eomer repeated with shock.

"Aye, lord." Hama approached the cell and unceremoniously unlocked the door, pulling it open.

Eomer warily stepped through, looking as though he half expected to be pushed back into the cell at any moment. Almost absent-mindedly, he took Charlotte's hand and squeezed it tight, as if to reassure himself she was there. "Hama, what news?"

"Gandalf has arrived, alongside three other travellers clad in grey. It is as if …" Hama took a great, shuddering breath, scarcely able to believe the words he spoke. "It is as if some great darkness, a _curse_, has been lifted from the King. He is as he was before, awake and hale. He remembered imprisoning you and bade me bring you to his side."

Eomer's gaze turned to Charlotte, noting the wide, relieved smile on her face. "Bring me my sword," he ordered Hama.

One of the other guards quickly fetched his sword and he fastened the belt around his waist. He looked at Charlotte once more, a mixture of hope and disbelief in his eyes, and reached out to take her hand. Together, the group left the dungeons and headed through the halls, Eomer leading the way.

They paused briefly in a side doorway of the main hall, looking in.

It was the first time Charlotte had ever seen the inside of the Golden Hall. It was on a larger scale than Aldburg, but a similar layout with tables between vast columns. The main difference was the intricately carved wooden throne set beneath the far wall that was decorated with knotwork and tapestries.

She heard Eomer's breath catch in his throat and his fingers tightened around hers, his eyes fixed on the man standing before the throne in wonder. He was not old, but nor was he young and healthy. He looked tired, as if he had recently been very ill, though he was richly dressed. There was a slight hunch to his back, like he had forgotten what it was to stand up straight.

Theoden King, Charlotte realized.

As they watched, Theoden slowly sank onto the throne in weariness, his eyes cast around the hall of his ancestors. "Alas, that these evil days should be mine." His voice had a faint rasp to it, the voice of one who has not spoken in a long time. "The young perish and the old linger, withering." He looked down at his wrinkled hands, his fingers clawed and bending reluctantly. He seemed dismayed by the lack of strength in his body.

Charlotte became aware of the familiar figure beside Theoden: Gandalf, now clad in the purest white instead of grey and bearing a snow white staff. "Your fingers would remember their old strength better, if they grasped a sword-hilt."

Theoden rose and put his hand to his side, but no sword hung at his belt. "Where has Grima stowed it?" he muttered under his breath.

Eomer released Charlotte's hand and there was a rasp of metal as he drew his sword. "Take this, dear lord," he said, his voice ringing loud and clear through the hall. "It was ever at your service."

Charlotte watched as he knelt before his uncle and King and presented the hilt of his sword, looking up into his face with clear wonder and hope.

"How comes this?" Theoden asked with an obvious note of sternness in his voice, turning his gaze from Eomer to Hama.

"It was my doing, lord," Hama confessed, stepping forwards. "I understood Eomer was to be set free. Such joy was in my heart that maybe I have erred. Yet, since he was free again, and he a marshal of the Mark, I brought him his sword as he bade me."

"To lay at your feet, my lord," Eomer said to his King.

For a moment of silence Theoden stood looking down at Eomer, his sword outstretched. Neither moved.

Theoden's eyes eventually shifted to Charlotte, who stood a little ways behind Hama. She found his gaze clear and intent, piercing her with his scrutiny. "And who is this?"

"My wife, Charlotte."

"You have married? I was not aware." Theoden gestured for Eomer to rise to his feet, but made no move to take the sword he offered. Instead, he beckoned for Charlotte to come forward. She hesitated, but moved to stand beside Eomer, who stood and sheathed his sword once more.

Theoden took both of their hands, holding them together between his own, much as Eothain had done when he married them. "My blessings to you both." He cast a smile at Charlotte; she saw that not all of the lines on his face were from age, many were from days of laughter and joy. "You must forgive me for not welcoming you to the House of Eorl as I should, my child. I hope we will have time to speak later."

More riders entered the hall, one of them carrying a longsword in a scabbard clasped with gold and set with green gems. "Here is Herugrim, lord, your ancient blade," the rider announced, presenting the hilt to Theoden. The King took the hilt, drawing it slowly from the scabbard and holding the blade aloft. "It was found in Wormtongue's chest. Many other things are there which men have missed."

All eyes were cast towards Grima and Charlotte noticed him for the first time; he was cringing on his knees to one side of the hall, held firmly by a very short and broad, bearded dwarf.

Gimli, son of Gloin, she knew instantly.

Her attention was further caught by the two figures beside the dwarf: one tall, slender and fair haired, with pointed ears beneath carefully pulled back braids; the other a rugged, dark haired man.

Legolas Greenleaf and Aragorn son of Arathorn, the heir of Elendil.

All three of the fellowship wore the grey raiment of the Elves that allowed them to melt into the shadows of the hall. They were watching the proceedings with interest, Gimli keeping a steady grip on Wormtongue.

"It is a lie," Wormtongue protested from his knees. "This sword was presented by the King into my keeping."

"And now your King requires it of you again," Theoden said, his voice dangerously mild, the sword still held ready. "Does that displease you?"

"Assuredly not, lord. I care for you and yours as best I may." Wormtongue's tongue darted out to wet his bluish lips and his eyes darted to Gandalf. "But I fear this Wizard has bewitched you."

"If this is bewitchment, it seems to me to be more wholesome than your whisperings." Theoden swiftly pointed his sword at Grima, who flinched away from it. "Your leechcraft would have had me walking on all fours like a beast."

"Send me not from your side, my lord!" Wormtongue cried, still grovelling in Gimli's grasp.

Theoden suddenly smiled at the whimpering man, a dangerous and predatory smile. "I do not send you from my side. I go myself to war with my men. I bid you come with me and prove your faith."

Wormtongue visibly swallowed, his already pale features losing what little colour they possessed. "If you are to ride to war, then let me stay and keep things here for you in your stead."

"Do you think we would draw the poison of Saruman just to place his craven puppet on the throne?" The power in Gandalf's voice rang around the hall. Shadows lengthened in the high corners near the roof and the Wizard appeared to grow in stature. He pointed his staff at Wormtongue in the manner of one passing final judgement. "Down snake, down on your belly!" Wormtongue fell forwards upon his face, cowering before the Wizard.

"How long is it since Saruman bought you?" Gandalf continued, his voice no longer quite so terrible as the shadows retreated back to their corners. "What was the promised price? When all the men were dead, you were to pick your share of the treasure, and take the woman you desire?" All eyes turned to Eowyn, standing cold, silent and disgusted beside Theoden's throne with a face that looked like it had been carved from marble. "Too long have you watched her under your eyelids and haunted her steps."

"That I knew already," Eomer muttered, grasping the hilt of his sword once more. "For that reason I would have slain him before, forgetting the law of the hall ... But there are other reasons also." He made to step forwards, but Charlotte stopped him with a hand on his sword arm.

"Hear this, Wormtongue," Theoden's words echoed through the room. "This is your choice: to ride with me to war, and let us see in battle whether you are true; or to go now, whither you will." The King's face darkened, his expression full of the promise of retribution. "But I warn you now, if we ever meet again then I will not be merciful."

Slowly, Wormtongue rose to his feet. He looked at them all with half-closed eyes, his gaze lingering on Charlotte with malevolence. Last of all he scanned Theoden's face. His hands worked. His eyes glittered. Such malice was in them that men stepped away from him. He bared his teeth and then, with a hissing breath, flung out one clawed hand to point at Charlotte. "If I am to leave, then I will be taking _her_ with me," he snarled, spittle flying from his mouth. "_She_ is the price if you want Theodred returned to you alive."

Eomer immediately moved protectively in front of her in the sudden silence, his hand on his sword hilt and fury evident in every line of his body.

_Of course_, Charlotte realised with sudden clarity. _That's why Theodred had been taken alive; Saruman wanted a trade._

"Returned alive?" Theoden's eyes suddenly widened in worry. The King looked around the hall, noting that his son was not among those assembled. "What do you mean? Where is Theodred? Where is my son?"

There was a brief silence: no one had yet told Theoden of Theodred's fate since he awoke from Saruman's spell.

"Theodred was captured in battle at the Fords of Isen some days ago," Charlotte eventually said quietly, when it became clear that no one else was going to speak.

Theoden turned to Wormtongue, anger in his expression. "What new devilry is this? What reason could you or Saruman have for wanting an innocent girl?"

"She is a seer, a witch from another world," Wormtongue spat, casting his hooded gaze to Charlotte once more.

Charlotte flinched at her otherworldly origins being outed so publicly, noting the murmurs and quick signs to ward off evil several men made with their fingers. Other reactions were varied: Eomer still bristled protectively in front of her; Gandalf gave a small sigh; Theoden looked taken aback; Eowyn's face was unreadable, though her eyes moved between her and Eomer; and, perhaps most interestingly, Legolas and Gimli seemed highly intrigued, looking at her with clear speculation.

"Saruman has been seeking her for months, she has information he wants," Wormtongue continued, his eyes narrowed with hate. "And I _will_ deliver her to him."

Charlotte took a deep breath and stepped around Eomer so she could see Wormtongue properly.

She had spent the whole ride from Aldburg mentally going over everything that she knew of the books and, if she was right, then Wormtongue would return to Isengard to find it already destroyed by the Ents.

It was a risk, it was a _terrible_ risk. The fact that things had changed already with Theodred's capture showed that events were not set in stone. What she was contemplating could see her delivered straight to Saruman's hands.

But Theodred's capture had been a direct result of her being here since Saruman wanted her. She saw no reason that her presence would have changed the paths of the Fellowship, particularly those of Merry and Pippin.

And Theodred was alive.

Charlotte had thought she would never forgive herself for allowing his death. Now, with this chance to save him before her, she knew how she must act.

"Theodred will be returned alive?" She refused to be tricked into some false exchange.

Wormtongue nodded sharply.

"And unharmed?" she added, raising her chin.

"That I cannot guarantee." A nasty smile twisted Wormtongue's thin lips. "My lord Saruman simply authorised me to make a transfer at the Fords of Isen. Theodred for you."

"Done."

"_No_," Eomer said sharply.

"Eomer." Charlotte's voice was full of warning.

He ignored her and drew his sword once more, pointing it at Wormtongue. "I will kill you where you stand if you touch her."

"Eomer …" She moved in front of him.

His anger was obvious in the clenched lines of his jaw and the rigidity in which he held his sword, but more than that she saw undeniable fear in his eyes when he turned his gaze down to her. "I will not allow it, Charlotte."

"I am inclined to agree," Theoden said, suddenly looking old and sorrowful, leaning on Eowyn's arm. "Theodred would not wish for your life to be given for his."

Charlotte straightened her back. "If you don't let me do this then I will find a way to slip out in secret," she threatened, though belatedly she thought that might have come across as childish rather than assertive. "And they are less likely to honour any kind of deal if I go on my own."

"Such an action would be foolish," Eowyn said softly, her gaze scrutinising Charlotte carefully.

"Then let's make _proper_ arrangements and do a formal exchange, to keep both me and Theodred safe," Charlotte insisted.

"You are determined in this." Theoden studied Charlotte's face. "If it is true what Grima says and you are not of this world, what concern do you have in our affairs? Why do you want to do this?"

She bit her lip, letting it drag through her teeth. "Because I already allowed Theodred to die once and it nearly broke me. Because I need to make amends." She looked at Eomer; he still held his sword on Wormtongue, his gaze fixed on him, but she knew he was listening intently to her. "Because … I would very much like to make Rohan my home if I can and if I am to do that then I need to put things right."

Gandalf stepped close to her, his voice lowered for only her to hear. "Are you sure that this is wise, my dear?" It occurred to Charlotte that this was the first time they had spoken to each other in many months. "Your knowledge is a dangerous weapon, it would not do for it to fall into the hands of the enemy."

"My knowledge is precisely the reason I feel that I _can_ do this," Charlotte replied, her voice equally low; she suspected Eomer, Theoden and Eowyn could hear also, but Wormtongue was far enough out of earshot for her to speak. "If I am right about timings, then I won't even _see_ Saruman."

Gandalf looked at her curiously, partially raising one brow.

Charlotte smiled at the Wizard, though it lacked any humour. "Some small stones will have caused an avalanche on Isengard long before I get there."

"Very well," Gandalf said with a small, satisfied smile of his own beneath his white beard. He turned to Theoden and nodded. "We will make the exchange."

"I will not allow it," Eomer said once more, his voice like thunder. He looked at her with blazing eyes, his sword unswayed from Wormtongue. "You are my _wife_ and I _will_ _not allow it."_

"Make the arrangements with Wormtongue," Charlotte said to Theoden and Gandalf. Then she grabbed Eomer by the sleeve and tugged him away. "I need to talk to my husband."

Equally determined to speak to her, no doubt to try and talk her out of this, Eomer allowed himself to be dragged out of the hall, sheathing his sword as he did so. They stopped halfway down a deserted corridor a little ways from the hall and turned to face each other.

"I will not allow this, Charlotte," Eomer said in a tone that brooked no refusal. "Not after months of keeping you hidden and safe, I will not now hand you to Saruman for torment and death."

"You will," she replied, gazing up into his face. "For Theodred."

Eomer gave her a pained look. His conflict over this was painfully clear, one part of him desperately wanting Theodred's return, the other part not wanting to put her in danger.

"Besides, if I'm right then torment and death won't be on the cards. Isengard should be destroyed long before I even get there."

"Isengard _destroyed_?" His tone was one of utter disbelief. He shook his head. "No, you cannot know that. You said yourself that things have changed from what you know."

"Theodred was captured instead of killed because Saruman wanted _me_. I have no reason to believe that other parts of the story will have changed."

"You cannot ask me to send you to the jaws of the beast," Eomer insisted. "I will not do it. I will not allow you to go."

A small, faint laugh escaped Charlotte's lips.

"You find this amusing?" Eomer demanded incredulously.

"In my world, traditional marriage vows are to love, honour, and obey your husband." He allowed her to take his hands in both of hers and she gently squeezed his fingers. "I meant every word of my wedding vows, but I never promised to obey you, Eomer."

"Whereas I promised my sword and shield to _protect_ you," he pointed out, holding their hands on his chest between them.

"Let me ask you something." Charlotte's voice was low and soft. "If I was in some kind of trouble, do you think that Theodred would risk his life to save me?"

Eomer sighed deeply. "He would. Without question or hesitation."

"In that case, why is risking my life not a fair exchange for his? Especially when I believe I won't actually be harmed at all?"

Eomer let out a huffing breath and looked away; she could feel his resolve weakening. Releasing his hands, she cupped both of his cheeks so he looked at her once more. "Eomer, in the story I know Theodred was _killed_. I spent weeks thinking I was practically _murdering_ Theodred by doing nothing to save him ... This is my chance to put that right, to make amends."

"That was why you were upset," Eomer murmured to himself, a deep crease between his brows. His hands settled on her hips almost absentmindedly. "It all makes so much sense now, your words and your fears ... I always thought it was _my_ death you feared, but it was _his_."

"That, and your reaction," Charlotte confessed, lowering her hands from his cheeks to rest them on his chest instead. Scant inches separated them in the darkened corridor. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I … I always knew that after the Fords of Isen everything would be different between us."

There was a long silence.

Eomer eventually let out a slow, deep sigh and the hands resting on her hips tugged her closer.

Lowering his head, he closed his eyes and wordlessly placed a gentle, lingering kiss to her lips.

It was nothing like their first and last kiss. There was no anger, no furious unrestrained passion, but this kiss was still no less intense. His touch was soft and tender, almost chaste as he held her close.

There was still much they needed to discuss- indeed, she still wasn't even sure if he completely forgave her - but it reassured her that she might not have lost his love.

Charlotte eventually drew back, but stayed in the circle of his arms, pressed against him. "I feel like I _need_ to do this, Eomer," she admitted, her fingers clutching at the material of his tunic. "I hope you understand."

"I do not understand." His voice was heavy with resignation. "Nor do I like it, not one bit."

"But you will allow it."

"Short of tying you up, do I have a choice?"

She shook her head and hugged him tightly in response. She buried her face in his neck to hide her expression - she may be determined to do this, but she was not as brave as she was pretending to be and didn't want him to see her apprehension.

Eomer's arms were like strong bands around her. One of his hands threaded through her hair, the other wrapped tightly around her waist. They swayed on the spot, embracing fiercely for many long moments.

Again, Charlotte drew back first. She hastily wiped away the tears tracking down her cheeks and took a deep breath.

"There is a small culvert at the base of the Deeping Wall at Helm's Deep," she told him in a voice that was all business. "It's a weak spot. You have to block it up."

Eomer blinked at her, taken aback by her sudden change of topic. "What are you talking about?"

"The Battle of Helm's Deep. An army of ten thousand strong will march on the Hornburg. I can't remember all the ins and outs of the battle, but I _do_ know that they are going to blow the wall and -

"_Blow_ _the wall?_" he interrupted, all incredulity.

"An explosion, a big one," she clarified needing to tell him as much as possible. "Enough to break through the rock and -"

"Charlotte." He stopped her talking with two fingers laid over her lips, his expression deeply troubled. "You always told me that you should not be sharing your knowledge."

She gave him a sad smile. "I think we are a little ways past that now. I changed things without meaning to and now … now I just have to do everything I can to _help_."

Eomer nodded slowly, his expression serious. "You once said that things would get worse before they get better ... Are we past the worst of this?"

Charlotte hesitated, gently taking his hands in both of hers once more. "I wouldn't say that we are past the worst. There are still battles to be fought, wars to be won. But Theoden waking up _is_ a turning point." She squeezed his hands tightly, gazing up into his face. "Eomer ... This is the moment where we start to _fight back_."

* * *

**Once again, thank you all for your lovely reviews - I cherish each and every one of them and always love to hear your thoughts!**

**Big thank you to BlackAqoKat for betaing!**

**As previously mentioned, this story draws on both the books and the films. Parts of this chapter, particularly the scene in the hall, are quotes from The Two Towers. **

**I hope that you are all staying safe and well! **


	19. Isengard unleashed

**WARNING - **orcs are deeply unpleasant creatures. This chapter contains violence and the threat of sexual assault - threatening words, some cuts, bruises and torn clothing, but no more than that. If this is something that you wish to pass over, please skip the fourth section, which is in Charlotte's perspective, after the Battle of Helm's Deep begins.

* * *

**Chapter 19 - Isengard unleashed**

* * *

"_**Ne læt ðin ellen nu gyt gedreosan to dæge."**__  
_"_Do not now allow your courage to fail on this day."_

_Waldere_

* * *

It was a strange feeling to be awoken from such a powerful, all consuming spell. Theoden King felt like he had been held underwater, in the crushing darkness and heavy silence, only to find his head suddenly breaking the surface. Sunlight dazzled his eyes and each breath he drew seared his lungs, his body regaining more and more of its strength with every passing moment.

He had never felt more alive.

He had never felt more _terrified_.

Saruman's spell had been slow and insidious, creeping up on him unnoticed. He had been mired in the web of magic long before he had even thought of fighting back. And he _had_ fought back, he knew that. But the spell fed off his struggles, tightening around him like strangling weeds with each movement he made until he had been utterly lost in the darkness.

Theoden's will had not been strong enough to contend with Saruman.

He was used to battle. He had fought many wars in his time. There was something clean and simple about facing a foe in the open field or while defending one's home, living or dying by the strength of your body. But to be confronted with this magic, to have one's very mind attacked, smothered and subdued ...

He deeply feared that he could be overcome again.

He had missed much during his time in the darkness. He had a few vague memories, but they were like dark dreams, slipping away as he tried to grasp on to them.

There was much that he had to reacquaint himself with and there was much to be done.

Meduseld was caught in a flurry of activity. Everywhere there were people making preparations to depart Edoras. The armies of the Westfold were scattered in the plains following the battle at the Fords of Isen where Theodred had been taken. The Fords were lost, there was little point in trying to reclaim them now. Instead they must rally and gather their men and retreat to Helm's Deep, where they would be able to fight against the armies of Isengard from a position of strength.

Theoden was keen to depart and anticipated leaving within the hour. He felt tired down to his very bones, the aching stiffness of one who has sat still for far too long - he needed to move, needed to ride, needed to _fight_.

But more than that, he desperately wanted to see his son again.

Theoden's gaze moved to Wormtongue. His former advisor sat hunched and sulking at a table in the far corner of the hall, waiting to depart. He was guarded by several men from Eomer's Eored, all of whom looked like they wanted nothing more than to tear the man limb from limb, their loyalty to their lord and lady running deep. Wormtongue would ride with them to the Fords under guard, where they would then make the exchange - Theodred for Eomer's wife, whom Saruman was seeking.

It seemed wrong to him to give a defenceless woman over to the enemy, but she was determined in her course and had the backing of Gandalf in her decision.

Theoden wondered at this foreign, strange woman Eomer had married and her determination to risk herself in such a way.

Eomer's wife had left a set of saddlebags open on one of the tables whilst the preparations to depart were ongoing, revealing the books of Aldburg that she'd brought for the accounting Wormtongue had requested.

With the preparations well in hand, Theoden and Eowyn poured over the books to acquaint himself with the situation in the rest of Rohan. They compared them to the books that Eowyn kept for Meduseld. Eowyn had kept a tight rein on the household, but Wormtongue's impact could be seen in other places that had been beyond her reach.

The late-winter planting of root vegetables had not yet been done. Few meat provisions had been taken during the _slaeten_, the hunt, and even less had been dried and stored. Perishable foods had been left undistributed to rot in the stores, while fare that would have lasted for many months had already been consumed.

The books of Aldburg told an equally dire story - a rather poor harvest with little that could be put aside for provisions after the war.

It was far, _far_ less than he would have expected.

"Even if we are successful against Saruman then I still fear for our survival. The Westfold is burning and many fields that were sown with wheat in the autumn will have been razed. There will be a poor harvest come summer, especially if the spring planting cannot be done with the men riding to war." Theoden raised his gaze from the books to look at Eowyn, his expression deeply troubled. "We do not have enough food to feed our people at Helm's Deep, let alone the Riddermark."

"Actually, my lord King, that is not entirely true." Eomer approached Theoden and Eowyn, dressed in his armour once more. He looked down at the books spread open on the tables, tilting one of them towards him to better look at the figures. "Those books are not an accurate representation of the state of things."

"What do you mean?"

"Charlotte has been keeping double sets of books. These ones show what Wormtongue would have expected to see. The accurate figures are back at Aldburg." Eomer leaned against the table with his arms folded over his breastplate, a deep frown on his face. "I did not relish the deception, but I knew that Wormtongue was inspecting the seats. He would not have looked kindly on any plan to set aside provisions."

"Then what is the true state of things?" Theoden scarcely dared to hope.

"Those figures represent only two thirds of our harvest," Eomer answered simply. "Theodred, Erkenbrand, and I have each rationed a third of our autumn harvest last season. Times may be lean, but there should be enough to feed the Riddermark. Theodred's supplies are no doubt stored in the Glittering Caves beneath the Hornburg."

Theoden exhaled a deep sigh of relief. They would not starve even if they were victorious in this fight.

"How did you know these supplies would be needed?"

Eomer raised a single, pointed brow.

"So Wormtongue spoke the truth then." Theoden found himself somewhat troubled by this revelation after his own brush with Saruman's magic. "She is a seer."

"Of sorts. She does have knowledge of the future," Eomer admitted with some reluctance. Seeing that Theoden was still distrubed, he continued. "She is no witch though, she is as human as you or I. She means Rohan no harm, of that I am certain." Eomer's frown returned. "It seems that Theodred was captured at the Fords solely to be a bargaining chip against her. It was a turn of events she was not anticipating."

"And your marriage?" Worry coloured Theoden's voice.

"For her protection, to make her a woman of Rohan."

The open saddlebags on the table had contained a crumpled letter that Theoden did not remember signing, reading that the validity of their marriage was to be examined. The bloodied bedsheet also in the bags was evidence of the consummated marriage, but more than that it had now also been blessed by himself as the King. It could not be in good conscious undone now.

He was saddened to think his beloved sister-son was trapped into a marriage not of his choosing.

"So you do not love her?"

To his surprise, a smile broke out over Eomer's usually stern face. "I did not say that," he admitted with a wry grin. "Just ask Eowyn, I've loved her since nearly the moment she arrived in Middle Earth."

Theoden turned to Eowyn in surprise. "You knew of this?"

"I knew Eomer was playing court to a woman not of Rohan since the autumn, but I knew nothing of her origins," Eowyn informed him calmly. "I have no reason to doubt the validity of their marriage and have long looked forward to knowing my new sister - more so, even, now all has been revealed."

Theoden nodded slowly and turned to Eomer once more. "Has she told you anything of Rohan's future?"

Eomer's smile slipped, replaced by a thoughtful frown. "She has kept much to herself, but she has told me we can and will defeat the darkness before us."

They were interrupted by Eomer's wife herself approaching them from the doorway of the hall. Many in the hall stopped to stare as she passed them, several making quick signs with their hands to ward off evil.

She had changed from the riding gear she had worn before. Her new clothing was strange; she now wore dark blue, tightly fitting trousers and a strangely patterned, fitted shirt that buttoned down the front. Her red hair, which had been secured in a braid for riding, was now loose and curling around her shoulders.

She looked strange and exotic - for the first time, Theoden truly believed that she was from another world.

Eomer straightened up from where he leant against the table. "Charlotte," His greeting contained a hint of admonishment and surprise at her clothing choice.

She gave him a small smile, though her nervousness and discomfort was evident. "Secret's out, no point in hiding it."

"It is strange seeing you like this again," Theoden watched as Eomer reached out and touched her gently, his fingers toying with the hem of the shirt she wore. The movement was natural and familiar, speaking of the easy affection between the two of them. "Why have you dressed thus?"

Charlotte smoothed her hands over her clothing before looking up at her husband. "It's like armour. It gives me courage, makes me feel confident."

"You do not have to do this, child," Theoden said quietly.

"Yes, I do," she answered with determination. She took a great, shuddering breath and looked around the hal. Her gaze settled on Wormtongue in the darkened corner under guard. "Have arrangements been made with Wormtongue?"

"We depart within the hour."

Charlotte turned suddenly to Eomer. "Can I leave Raefen here? I don't want to ride her to Isengard, if something happened to her -"

She cut herself off, biting her lip - despite her determination, it was clear she was not as brave as she pretended to be.

"You can ride with me until we get to the Fords," Eomer offered softly. He drew her close to his side, his large frame dwarfing her petite one. Theoden felt a little of his worry regarding the marriage ease, seeing that the two of them, however strangely matched, were comfortable and affectionate with each other. "Now come, tell the King what you told me about the Deeping Wall."

* * *

Wormtongue glowered from beneath heavily lidded eyes at Eomer's wife as they rode from Edoras to the Fords of Isen.

She had changed into strange clothing, no doubt from her own world. It was as if the clothing made some indelible change upon her; she held herself differently, straighter, with her chin raised and her jaw set. This was not the same woman who had wrung her hands and lied to his face in the halls of Aldburg when he had first met her.

She rode with Eomer, sitting on his horse in front of him. Eomer held the reins in one hand, his other hand resting at her waist. She whispered to him for most of the ride; Wormtongue wondered what she said, what glimpses of the future she was imparting.

He had been surprised by how readily both Theoden and Gandalf had agreed to the exchange to get Theodred back. Wormtongue had never expected it to be so public. He had anticipated Charlotte coming to Edoras when summoned and making the offer to her and her alone. He had thought her bleeding heart would have leapt at the chance to rescue the Prince and she would go behind Eomer's back to do so, since Wormtongue knew full well the Marshal would never give up his wife even for his own cousin. The loss of his wife would have been a crippling blow to Eomer, weakening Rohan further.

Especially since there had never been any intention of returning Theodred alive.

But everything had changed when Saruman's spell had been broken. Theoden King himself and an entire Eored of riders journeyed to the Fords to retrieve their Prince, along with Gandalf and the three travellers that had arrived. The exchange would have to be done fairly.

Wormtongue thought on Theoden's words, back when he had been speaking to both him and Gandalf about arrangements: '_May death find you quickly, if you harm her in any way_.'

He could not help the feeling of unease creeping up on him.

After all, Charlotte did not have the demeanor of one going to their doom.

They arrived at the Fords and, as agreed, Wormtongue crossed alone to approach the camp of Isengard's forces on the opposite bank.

The orc guards recognised him and allowed him through with snarls and teeth bared in a mockery of welcome. The camp was a vile place. Orcs were uncaring of the filth they lived in and the stench of rot and excrement mingled in the air with smoke from the fires. He didn't look too closely at the meat turning on a spit, nor did he spare a glance for the Rohirric armour piled beside a warg pen.

Wormtongue was led to a heavily guarded tent in the middle of the camp.

The stench of urine, filth, and blood assaulted his nose before he even ducked beneath the flap to enter the dark tent.

It smelt of _death_.

Theodred was unconscious, laying half on his side on the floor of the tent with his back to the entrance. One of his wrists was manacled to a stake driven into the ground, his free arm curled out of sight. He had been stripped of his armour. The back of his tunic was torn to shreds, dark with dried blood. His long, tangled hair was matted and stuck to the wounds visible beneath the torn material.

Wormtongue used his foot to turn Theodred over, heedless of the dirt that would dig into the open wounds.

The reason only one of his wrists was shackled was suddenly abundantly clear - Theodred's right hand had been cut off at the wrist, the stump sealed with hot tar.

Bruises littered his body in a scale of black and purple and one of his eyes was swollen with puffy red skin. More than that, Theodred had numerous slashes on the skin of his face, chest and arms, symmetrical cuts which would no doubt scar horribly.

If he survived, that is.

Wormtongue was honestly surprised to see the Prince was still breathing, though his breaths were ragged and rattling, his skin burning with fever.

"You flogged him," Wormtongue observed dispassionately to his orc guards, staring down at Theodred.

"Runtling strawhead tried to escape," the orc replied in a deep, growling voice. "Got to the woods before we ran him down."

Wormtongue crouched down, wrinkling his nose at the stench of the Prince. He examined each of his wounds, noticing the signs of infection that had already set in. "And the hand?"

"Strangled one of his guards. Had to make an example."

Looking down at Theodred, it was clear he would not last much longer here in the orc camp - but he was alive, and that was the main thing.

Wormtongue straightened up and addressed the orc once more. "Our lord Saruman wants this exchange to go well. There is to be no fighting at the Fords."

The orc bared its teeth in a snarl that he took to be agreement.

He jerked his chin at Theodred. "Get him up."

Theodred was kicked in the side by iron shod boots, making him instinctively curl in on himself as best as possible. The orc hauled him unceremoniously to his feet and Theodred staggered as he regained consciousness. He could only open one of his bloodshot eyes, the other swollen shut, but his gaze focused instantly on Wormtongue.

"_You_!" he rasped with utter hatred in his voice, lurching towards him - he could not get far, still manacled to the stake.

Wormtongue sneered, surprised at the fire still to be found in the Prince. The orc released the shackle from the stake and Theodred almost instinctively swung a punch at him. He was struck in the face in retaliation for this, sending him to his knees once more as he fought to stay conscious. He was hauled to his feet again and pulled from the tent, half dragged, half stumbling.

A contingent of orc archers accompanied them back to the Fords.

As they approached the water, Wormtongue saw the Rohirrim spread out along the opposite bank. Archers kept their arrows notched at the ready. Wormtongue eyed the Elf holding his own bow by his side, particularly resentful of the new arrivals who had broken Saruman's hold over Theoden.

Eomer and his wife already stood in the water, near the middle of the flow, the shallow river rushing about their knees. Eomer kept his hand on his sword hilt, his eyes like flint as he picked out the approaching orcs on their side of the bank.

Wormtongue heard the murmurs of horror and disbelief as the riders spotted Theodred among them, many hands tightening on weapons.

Signalling for the orc archers to remain on the bank, Wormtongue drew his short knife from his cloak and pulled a staggering Theodred forwards by the manacle attached to his wrist. They entered the water, stopping just before the middle of the flow so that barely a few yards separated them from Eomer and his wife. Since he was clearly unable to keep his feet, Wormtongue shoved Theodred to his knees in the river, the cold water flowing around his chest. He held the knife poised at the Prince's throat.

All was silent but the gurgling of the river.

"If you would be so kind as to come forward, my lady," Wormtongue said to Charlotte, his tone as civil as one would expect in the King's hall.

Charlotte turned to her husband and gave him a long, lingering look, visibly squeezing his hand. Much passed between them in that silent moment, before she released him and turned to Wormtongue once more. Eomer's face was like stone as she took the last few steps forward on her own, his knuckles white around his sword hilt.

"No …" Theodred's rasping voice broke the silent tension as he realised what was taking place. "Eomer, they will kill -"

Wormtongue shoved Theodred forwards and he pitched off balance, falling into the water. With the same movement, he seized Charlotte and dragged her towards him, holding the knife to her throat lest she try anything. There was the distinctive sound of drawn bowstrings, but no arrows flew from either side of the river.

Eomer grabbed Theodred from the water, half supporting his cousin as he swayed, but also went to draw his sword as well.

"Eomer no!" Charlotte urged him, standing unprotesting in Wormtongue grip. "You need to get Theodred to safety, he needs a doct - I mean, a healer!"

Wormtongue started to pull her backwards, keeping the knife at her throat. Eomer glared at him from the middle of the Fords, still supporting a barely conscious Theodred.

"I'll be fine," Charlotte reassured as they reached their side of the bank, her husband visibly struggling not to come after her. "Go … _go_, Eomer!"

They reached the cover of the trees and the Fords were lost to sight. Wormtongue wasted no time in binding Charlotte's hands in front of her. He dragged her to where a stolen horse waited. He was perhaps rougher with her than he should have been since she stood silent and unresisting in his grasp, but anger and unease over the whole situation made his hands heavy.

He mounted behind her. He was grimly satisfied at the way she flinched away from him, as if to let as little of her body as possible touch him. Accompanied by a group of six orcs, he turned the horse northwards towards Isengard. Saruman would want his prize as soon as possible.

Charlotte was cold and silent as they rode northwards towards Isengard, her chin raised with all the haughtiness of a queen. Nevertheless, Wormtongue could feel the trembling tension in her body, could hear the occasional catch in her breathing. It gratified him to know she was not as poised as she had appeared prior to the exchange.

After several hours of silent riding they heard a soft thundering noise that shook the ground, growing louder with every step that they took.

Eventually, the source of the noise came into view.

From where they stood, high on a ridge, they could see the unleashed armies of Isengard marching in the valley below them. Tens of thousands of fighting Uruk-hai and wild men from Dunland, all bristling with weapons. Thousands of long spears rose like a thicket above the marching troops. The white hand of Saruman marked their breastplates and helms.

"All of Isengard is emptied," Wormtongue said softly into Charlotte's ear as they stopped to watch the marching army. "They hunger for manflesh and tonight they will feast ... Tell me, do you feel confident now, _seer_?"

Charlotte didn't reply - her eyes were wide, her face ghostly white as she stared at the army below them.

"See how they carry a battering ram and ladders? The great gates of the Hornburg will not last long beneath the strength of the battering rams. The ladders they carry have metal grapples on the end that will lock on to the walls, meaning that they cannot simply be pushed down," Wormtongue continued, trying to needle her into a response. "Helm's Deep will be the first, then the armies of Saruman will spread across the West. The world of men will fall and there is nothing that can be done to stop it."

Still, she said nothing.

"None can stand against the armies of Isengard. Not Helm's Deep, not Edoras, not Aldburg," he further goaded her, wanting to see her fear. "The people of Rohan will die screaming and -"

"And _you -_." She suddenly turned to face him in the saddle, her eyes blazing like fire. "You will die _gasping_."

He flinched sharply back at her words.

"Being shot with an arrow is not a pleasant death, Grima Wormtongue," she continued viciously. "It's drawn out. _Lingering_. Plenty of time for the blood to fill the lungs, for you to _choke_ on it -"

Wormtongue shoved a piece of material unceremoniously into her mouth to gag her. He used a piece of rope to tie it in place, ignoring the hatred in her eyes. He spurred the horse onwards once more, leaving the marching army behind them.

They continued riding northwards towards Isengard, but Wormtongue was now deeply, _deeply_ troubled and not a little fearful. He now took the care to hold himself as far away from the seer as possible while they rode.

_You will die gasping_.

* * *

Eomer descended into the glittering caves beneath the caverns of Helm's Deep just as night was beginning to fall.

He had spent the day seeing to the battlements and defences of the Hornburg. The dike before the wall had been filled with sharpened wooden stakes, all coated with tar or oil. Swords, shields, and armour had been distributed to any able bodied man. Barrels of arrows lined the Deeping Wall. The small culvert at the base of the wall had been expertly blocked up at the direction of Gimli the Dwarf.

Anything to distract himself from his dark thoughts.

Charlotte was on route to Isengard with none but that snake Grima Wormtongue to protect her. It had taken all of Eomer's willpower not to cross the Fords and reclaim her when he had seen the orc escort waiting for them. She claimed that Isengard would be destroyed long before she got there - though was secretive with the details on _how_ this feat would happen - but it didn't change the danger she was willingly placing herself in.

He was well used to not seeing her for days at a time whilst he was out on patrol, but knowing she was alone and he was powerless to help her meant that he felt the separation all the more acutely. He felt as if he had lost a part of himself, like losing a limb -

But no, that was perhaps a poor comparison to make even in his own mind.

Eomer made his way to where an unconscious Theodred lay on a low cot that had been set up for him. They had feared Theodred would not survive the swift journey from the Fords to Helm's Deep. Indeed, he might not have done had Gandalf not assisted. Before their departure, Gandalf had placed his hand over Theodred's closed eyes and muttered some spell that had eased the Prince's breathing. Upon their arrival at Helm's Deep Aragorn had taken charge of Theodred, seeing to his wounds with the practiced hands of a healer.

Theodred was in a sorry state, though he looked immeasurably better than when they had first seen him at the Fords. His filthy clothing had been removed, his body washed and his matted, golden hair combed back and out of his face. Even the grotesque, burned stump of his right arm looked less horrific after being wrapped in clean, white bandages.

Eowyn sat beside their cousin, bathing his fevered brow with cool water mixed with fragrant, crushed herbs.

Aragorn surprised them all when he used a bundle of Kingsfoil to treat Theodred's wounds. Normally they considered it little more than pig feed. Nevertheless they could not deny the efficacy of the herb. Theodred's fever had already come down, the ragged skin around the edges of his wounds no longer looked so red and inflamed, and his lungs no longer held the rattle of death with each breath.

But more than that, the Kinsfoil contained a sweetness that freshened the air and lightened the soul - Eomer thought he could smell something of the pure air of the mountains, the open plains and the wind in the grass with each fragrant breath of the herb.

Eomer sat down beside his sister. "Will he live?" he asked softly, voicing the question running in whispers around the whole fortress since they had arrived, from the men preparing to defend the walls to the women and children settling into the caves, all fearing for the life of their beloved Prince.

"Lord Aragorn believes so." Eowyn carefully arranged the cold cloth on Theodred's forehead so it did not aggravate any of the cuts that marred his once handsome face. "But he will never fight again."

"But he will _live_." Eomer took a deep, shuddering breath as he stared at the still and silent form of his elder cousin, whom he regarded as a brother.

Being several years older than himself, he had always looked up to Theodred as his Prince for his strength and prowess in battle, but also for his strong sense of justice and morality. Until the breaking of Saruman's spell, Theodred had been more of a King than Theoden in the last few months, a role he was born to take.

"He will still be able to ride. He can learn to wield a sword with his left hand. He can still read and pass judgement on matters in the court." Eomer's voice dropped to a low whisper in the gathering gloom of the caves. "He will still be able to _rule_ one day."

This was something that had been weighing heavily on Eomer's mind since Theodred had been returned to them alive. Theodred died in the story Charlotte knew and he was Theoden's only son. Did that mean _he_ had been the one to become King of Rohan one day?

It was a mantle he would never have wanted.

The sound of a horn beyond the fortress penetrated the depths of the caves. Silence fell over the woman and children gathered there. Eyes rose to the stone ceiling above them, then they shared looks of apprehension and confusion.

That was no orc horn.

"Stay here," Eomer told Eowyn sternly; she nodded once, knowing that her duty lay in the caves with the women and the wounded despite her skill with a blade.

Eomer took the long passage out of the caves and up to the Hornburg at a run, only to stop short at the sight before him.

An army of Elves marched the corridors of the Hornburg, four abreast, and moving with strange, preternatural grace. Banners of white, green, and gold were held aloft. They were hooded and cloaked in grey raiment similar to that which Aragron, Legolas and Gimli wore. The Elves were all armed with long bows and wrought helms upon their heads, ready for war.

Stunned, Eomer came to stand beside Gimli, who watched the army as they made their way to the battlements.

"Have you conjured this army?"

"It is the folk of the Golden Wood, led by Haldir, their March Warden," Gimli answered with his hands folded atop of the large axe that rested on the floor. "The Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond seek to honour the old alliance between Elves and men."

"I cannot believe it," Eomer murmured to himself, his gaze fixed on the Elves; after all, Charlotte had said nothing about an army of Elves turning up in all that she had told him of this battle. The sight of them, deadly and ready for battle, gave him _hope_ and lightened the heart that was weary with thoughts of both Theodred and Charlotte.

Gimli turned to look up at him beneath the sturdy helm he wore, his eyes narrowed above his red beard. "When we met I told you that you spoke ill of that which was fair beyond your reach of thought. Will you say now that the Lady Galadrial is no net-weaver or dark sorceress, that she is the fairest in all Middle Earth?"

Eomer was still staring at the Elves. "No doubt all of Rohan is grateful to the Elves for their armies, but I have never met the Lady in question and so I cannot comment on her beauty." A grin spread over his face, the sudden lightness in his heart making his tongue loose. "She could be a hag for all I know."

Gimli visibly bristled with anger, his hands shifting to heft his axe. "Again, you speak foolish words."

"I intended it as a jest," Eomer protested. He remembered too late just how insulted Gimli had been when he had accused the three hunters of nefarious purposes when they had met on the plains since they were in league with the Lady of the Golden Wood.

"You have little wit, Lord Eomer, and that cannot excuse you," Gimli said caustically, glowering at him. "You and I will have a reckoning once the battle is won, but for now I will save my axe for the orcs."

Eomer was saved from further insulting his allies by the call to join the defenders at the wall. Final preparations were made, the doors to the caves sealed off, and the men lined the wall, ready to fight.

Darkness had well and truly fallen. From the high vantage point of the Deeping Wall, the flickering lights of many thousands of approaching torches could be seen. Thunder boomed in the sky and a persistent, heavy rain began to fall, the sound of water an incongruous tinkling on the armour of the waiting warriors. The marching Uruks stopped just before the dike, where hundreds of sharpened wooden stakes coated with pitch and tar lay between them and the Deeping Wall. It was a colossal army they faced, ten thousand strong at least, just as Charlotte had said.

A single orc roar sounded above the thunder. As one, the monstrous army stomped their spears on the ground, shaking the very earth beneath them. The roars and screaming battlecries from thousands of angry throats filled the night.

Eomer's heart pounded beneath his breastplate. He may be powerless to help both Theodred and Charlotte in this moment, but he was not powerless to fight and defend the Hornburg. A cold, grim anticipation of battle settled on him and he raised his chin defiantly, staring down the enemy.

The orcs suddenly stopped their war cry and an ominous silence fell.

On some unseen signal, the Elven warriors drew their arrows in perfect unison, nocking them to their bows and holding the tips to the flaming braziers that lined the wall. A shout in Elvish came from further down the wall. Moments later, a volley of flaming arrows lit the night sky, sailing high through the air and landing among the wooden stakes in the dike.

Sudden flames spread in the space between the waiting orcs and the Hornburg as the pitch and tar ignited.

The battle of Helm's Deep had begun.

* * *

Charlotte felt utterly foolish to think she would be able to do this, her courage failing by the minute.

She was cold, wet, and miserable. Darkness had fallen some hours ago and it was raining heavily. She sat with her back against a tree trunk in a darkened forest, bound and gagged, her knees drawn up tight to her chest. Grima Wormtongue sat nearby, huddled in his own cloak for protection against the rain. He had not said a word to her since they passed the armies of Isengard, clearly brooding over her words.

The orcs - truly hideous creatures with their rotten, pointed teeth and yellow eyes - were trying to light a fire and arguing viciously with each other.

"I'm telling ye, we're lost!" one of the orcs snarled.

"We ain't lost," the largest orc, the one that seemed to be the leader, grunted back, clearly not appreciating having his authority questioned. "Isengard lies directly North of the Fords and we've been going North."

"We've come too far East, shouldn't be near the forest at all," another orc said, gesturing at the trees that loomed all around them with his knife.

"And I'm telling ye we ain't lost!" the leader growled at them, his clawed hand resting on the rusted and notched sword at his belt.

"See them trees? Them trees means we're lost!"

One of the other orcs, who was busy trying and failing to get the fire started in all of the rain, let out a grumbling sigh and spat out the piece of dried meat he had been chewing. "The rest of the boys are at the battle. Bloody big Uruks get all the fun. They'll get to feast on manflesh tonight and we're here stuck in the rain with naught but stinking horseskin."

Charlotte shuddered in her bonds, suddenly very glad she hadn't been offered any of the food they had been eating.

"Not just horseskin." One of the orcs eyed Charlotte from across the camp in a way that made her stomach sink right down to her toes. "Reckon we can have some fun of our own."

The orcs suddenly surrounded her, huge and terrifying in the darkness. Charlotte cringed back as far as her bonds and the tree trunk would allow. The branches of the trees creaked menacingly above them, as if in response to her movement.

"Here now, what does the Wizard want with you?" A clawed hand poked at her, jabbing her in the side.

"He wants her alive and unspoiled," Wormtongue said coldly from where he sat, having raised his head at the orc's movements.

"Wasn't talking to you, strawhead," one snarled at him, baring its teeth. "You'd best be careful in case we decide we want a taste of manflesh too."

Wormtongue's mouth clamped closed at the threat and he narrowed his eyes at them.

"Here now, girl." The orcs turned their attention to Charlotte once more. "What does the Wizard want you for?"

One orc leaned so close she could smell the fetidness of its breath, could see strips of rotten flesh between its pointed black teeth. "Do ye give good sport?"

"I hear she's got information he wants."

Shadows seemed to shift and move around the camp, the tree branches swaying in the non-existent wind.

"Information, is it?" An orc had her hair in its grasp, not quite pulling but lifting the strands to sniff at them. Yellow eyes with slitted pupils were fixed on her face, seemingly relishing her fear. "Now maybe the old Wizard won't mind if we soften you up some before we get there. Loosens the tongue, see? Might even reward us for it."

Charlotte shuddered violently and closed her eyes, huddling into the smallest ball that she could in her bonds. _This wasn't supposed to happen_, she thought as the orcs laughed at her fear. How could she be so _stupid_ as to think she would be safe? She knew (_hoped_) that Isengard would be destroyed before they arrived, but first they had to get there and it was looking more and more likely that she would not survive the journey unscathed.

"I _said_, alive and unspoiled," she heard Wormtongue repeat.

"She'll be alive, certainly." Clawed hands suddenly dug into her thigh and scratched downwards towards her knee, tearing her jeans. She whimpered and curled up tighter at the pain, feeling blood well within the cuts. "And I'll bet she's already been spoiled by them rider scum."

The hand holding her hair suddenly jerked sharply back, yanking Charlotte's head painfully up to look at the orcs once more. "That true, my pretty? You spread your legs for them straw heads?"

"The whole lot of them and their horses too, I'll bet." An orc traced her cheek with his finger in a mockery of a tender fashion and laughed as she flinched away.

"That is _enough_." Wormtongue rose to his feet, his eyes glittering. The leaves of the trees rustled above him, the branches shifting and creaking ominously. "Unless you wish to face the wrath of Saruman, you will -"

The leader of the orcs stood and struck Wormtongue across the face with a vicious snarl, knocking him to the ground.

Chaos erupted around the camp.

Charlotte's ankle was seized and she was dragged away from the tree. She screamed through the gag, kicking her legs wildly. She managed to land a solid kick on the orc dragging her, making him jerk back. He bared his teeth at her in a snarl and backhanded her across the face, making her see stars.

She was aware of claws biting into her legs through the material of her jeans, tearing them further. She kept kicking as best she could, swinging at the orcs with her bound hands. There were simply too many of them for her to fight off and she screamed again as her shirt was ripped open. She managed to knock one of the orcs back with her bound hands, but was rewarded with another blow across the face that sent her head snapping to the side.

She fought to stay conscious, black spots dancing in her vision.

As one, the orcs froze and looked up into the trees above them with sudden fear and horror.

Charlotte heard their screams and the distinct sound of breaking bones -

And then darkness took her.

* * *

The defenders of the Hornburg filled the dike with orc bodies. The flames had stymied the orcs only briefly. It was not long before they pushed through the defences set in the dike and flooded the ground below the very walls of the Hornburg. They were met with volley after volley of arrows, but seemed uncaring of how many they lost in their efforts to get ladders up the walls.

Before long the Deeping Wall was swarming with orcs and ladders. The defenders held their ground on the wall, pushing back each wave of orcs as they came. Bows had been discarded in favour of swordplay and knifework, though a contingent of Elven archers continued to fire from their position behind the wall, sending arrows arching over their heads and into the waiting armies below.

Guthwine's sharp edge gleamed black with the blood of the orcs Eomer had slain. Further down the wall, he was vaguely aware of Legolas and Gimli competing against each other for who could slay the most orcs.

A colossal explosion rent the night, sending men, Elves, and orcs to the ground with the force of the blast.

Deafened and dazed, Eomer was only vaguely aware of Haldir, the March Warden of Lothlorien, pulling him up by the arm. He shook his head to dispel the ringing in his ears. All around him the fighters staggered to their feet. Eomer lurched to the wall and looked down to see the damage.

The grey stone was stained black from the explosion and a deep crack zigzagged up the wall - yet there was no breach.

A grim smile spread over Eomer's bloodied and dirty face.

He mentally thanked both Charlotte for her foreknowledge and Gimli for his skill with stone, dreading to think the damage that might have been done if the culvert hadn't been blocked up.

His satisfaction did not last long. The orcs were swift to rally after the explosion which, in truth, had done more damage to their forces than the defenders, and more ladders assaulted the walls. Wave after wave of the foul beasts came upon them and Eomer fought side by side with both his men and the Elves. Yet despite their best efforts, the orcs were too many and gradually overcame the defences on the wall, pushing them back.

Eomer's attention was caught by a filthy and bloodstained Aragorn calling them back to the keep.

He jerked his head to indicate he had heard the command, then ruthlessly decapitated the Uruk about to attack Haldir from behind with a single swing of his sword.

The Elf nodded his thanks, the edge of his curved sword dripping with black orc blood.

Gathering their men, the defenders abandoned the wall and retreated back to the defense of the keep. The assailants briefly faltered despite taking the wall, foiled by the silent menace of rock and wall that made up the keep, a keep that had never been taken by enemies. Eomer could not help the grim feeling of hopelessness that assaulted him as they gave ground; Charlotte had said they could win this battle, that Gandalf and Erkenbrand would come with their scattered troops, but it still grated on him to be playing on the defense rather than meeting the orcs in the open field.

It was not long before they heard the battering rams at the gates.

"They will need time to brace the gate," Eomer said to Aragorn and Haldir, the March Warden. "There is a postern door and path that leads towards the main gate. The causeway is narrow. A few men could hold it for a time."

A light was shining in Aragorn's eyes. "Then let this be the hour that we draw swords together."

Gathering some stout swordsmen from among Eomer's riders, the three led the way towards the postern door. They crept along the narrow path and saw the great ram assaulting the gate. Swords flashed from the sheath as one and they each leapt forwards with a battle cry of their own.

"Guthwine! Guthwine for the Mark!" Eomer shouted, leading his men forwards.

"_Gurth enin goth_!" Haldir cried in Elvish, his curved, double handed sword flashing in the rain.

"Anduril! Anduril for the Dunedain!" The legendary blade that was broken rose and fell, gleaming with white fire.

The orcs' wall of shields was broken and they were swept away, hewn down, or cast over the rock of the causeway into the stony stream below. Those that remained shrieked and fell back down the causeway, but the reprieve would not last for long. Behind them, the great hinges and iron bars of the gate were wrenched and bent, with many of the timbers cracked. Through the gaps they could see men piling stone and beams to reinforce the gate.

Eomer turned to look, but some dozen orcs that had lain hidden among the slain jumped to attack them. Two flung themselves at Eomer's legs and tripped him. Within moments they were atop of him and in that moment Eomer felt sure he was about to meet his death.

"_Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" _A Dwarvish battle cry rent the air and the two orcs fell headless beneath Gimli's axe. Gimli had followed them through the postern gate and Eomer found himself very glad indeed that he had. He rose shakily to his feet while the others quickly dealt with the remaining orcs.

The defenders quickly retreated back up the narrow path to the postern gate before the orcs could rally once more. Within moments, the iron door was barred and piled inside with stones. They leant on their swords to catch their breath.

"My thanks, Master Dwarf. I will not find it easy to repay you." Eomer could feel his heart racing at just how close he had come to death.

Gimli gave a rumbling laugh. "There may be a chance ere this night is over, lad."

"The dawn is not far off," Aragorn pointed out, his gaze lifted to one of the narrow windows set into the wall.

"But these are creatures of Isengard, Uruk-hai that the foul craft of Saruman has bred," Eomer pointed out. "They will not quail at the sun."

"Nonetheless, day will bring hope to me." Aragorn turned to Eomer; despite his poor raiment, simple armour and lack of helm, he still looked kingly and proud. "Is it not said that no foe has ever taken the Hornburg, if men defended it?"

"So the minstrels say," admitted Éomer.

Aragorn raised his bloodied sword in preparation to join the fight on the walls of the keep once more, his gaze bright and keen. "Then let us defend it."

* * *

"Is she dead?"

"I don't think so."

There was a pause.

"She looks dead."

Charlotte was vaguely aware of voices as she woke slowly and groggily, her head aching fiercely. Her whole body throbbed in pain and her eyelids felt too heavy to lift. Something prodded lightly at her shoulder.

"Don't poke her."

"How else are we meant to see if she's alive?"

Another prod, this time she halfheartedly tried to bat the hand away with a wince.

"She moved!"

"Quick, poke her again."

Her eyes fluttered open and two curly topped heads swum into focus. They bent over her with matching looks of concern on their round, cheerful faces. Charlotte blinked up at them several times, dazed and confused.

"She's awake!" one of them said excitedly and Charlotte was pulled into a sitting position, heedless of her aching limbs.

Still feeling groggy, she stared hard at the two people before her. They were extremely short, wearing worn clothing and had bare, thick soled and hairy feet. She knew immediately who they were. If Merry and Pippin were here then surely - _surely_ \- that meant Isengard was destroyed and she was safe. She silently thanked her lucky stars that she had survived her journey with the orcs unscathed.

Well, relatively unscathed: her jeans were torn in several places, with dried blood crusted in the ripped material; bruises had blossomed up her arms; the side of her face was aching fiercely; the buttons had all been torn from her shirt when the orcs had pulled it open.

Looking down, she saw her shirt had been carefully fastened once more with a single, leaf-shaped broach for modesty.

The Hobbits scrambled to their feet and hastened to bow deeply to her.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck of Brandy Hall, at your service, miss," said one.

"And Peregrin Took of Tuckborough, also at yours and your families," said the other.

"My name is Charlotte of - well, of Rohan, I suppose." She staggered to her feet, still dazed and lightheaded. "What happened?"

"The trees got you," Pippin said seriously, reaching out to steady her as she swayed.

Charlotte blinked in confusion, wondering if he was talking about the Ents. "The trees?"

"You were lucky, they ate the orcs," Merry pointed out.

"_Ate_ them?"

"Oh yes, but one of the Ents stopped them before they ate you and your friend too. He's over there, talking to Treebeard." Pippin pointed to an archway not far off and for the first time Charlotte took note of their surroundings. They were beside a ruined wall. Trees encroached almost to the wall on one side, whereas the other side kept dirty, dank water contained in the circle of Isengard. Far away, in the middle of the circle, the lonely black tower of Orthanc loomed high above everything.

Charlotte spotted Grima Wormtongue cringing in the archway leading to Isengard, speaking to an Ent that could only be Treebeard. "He's not my friend," she muttered darkly to the Hobbits, then set off towards him, limping slightly due to the injuries on her legs. The Hobbits trailed after her. Merry politely offered his arm even though she had to stoop to take it.

"You have only two choices," Treebeard said to Wormtongue in a deep, rumbling voice that sounded like an avalanche in the mountains. "To stay with me until Gandalf and your master arrive, or to cross the water. Which will it be?"

Wormtongue glanced at Charlotte, seeing that she was awake. He had a split lip and bruises standing out vividly on his pale cheekbone. She could not help but remember how he had tried to defend her from the orcs, though considering he had been taking her to Saruman she still felt little pity for him. "We will cross," he said sullenly.

"Oh there is no _we_ about it, Grima Wormtongue. I do believe I'll wait right here," she said lightly.

Wormtongue looked stricken. "But you _have_ to come with me."

"I think you'll find that I don't." Charlotte smiled nastily at him, even though it made the side of her face ache. "Have a nice swim."

Wormtongue hesitated. His hands clenched at his side. He glanced at Treebeard, likely wondering if he could force her to cross the water with him. No doubt seeing it was futile, he made to step into the water, and then drew back fearfully. "I cannot swim."

"The water is not deep. It is dirty, but that will not harm you, Master Wormtongue," Treebeard pointed out in his great, booming voice. "Now, in you go."

Charlotte could not help but waggle her fingers at him. "Give Saruman my regards." With a look of utter defeat mingled with hatred, Wormtongue slowly entered the dirty water, which rose to his chest. They watched him wade his way towards the tower of Orthanc, pushing past various bits of flotsam and jetsam. Soon the water was up to his neck and he was clinging on to a floating bit of wood for support; Treebeard waded in after him to make sure he reached the tower safely.

Before long, he was lost to their sight.

Pippin turned to look cheerfully up at her. "Treebeard asked us to watch the gate and keep an eye out for the men of Rohan. He wants us to find food that's fit for a King."

"Which means we have to test it first, of course," Merry pointed out sensibly.

"Oh yes," Pippin agreed, then gestured towards what remained of a guardroom, where a surprisingly welcome tendril of smoke was rising from the ruined chimney. "We were making breakfast when you arrived, would you like some?"

"I would absolutely love some," Charlotte said wearily. She suddenly became aware of just how hungry she was - the last thing she had eaten was a quick bowl of porridge before they made the transfer at the Fords of Isen, and it was now the morning of the following day. She followed the Hobbits towards the guardroom. "Tell me, is this your first or second breakfast of the day?"

The Hobbits froze in their tracks. Turning, they first looked at her with wide eyed surprise, then looked at each other. Their gazes then went back to her.

"You've … heard of second breakfast?" Merry asked with no small amount of wonder in his voice.

Charlotte felt her face crack into a wide smile at the Hobbits' expressions.

Pippin gazed up at her like she just hung the sun in the sky. "Finally, we've reached a _civilised_ part of the world."

* * *

**Once again, a big thank you for all of your lovely reviews! Each and every one puts the biggest smile on my face and it's always great to hear what you particularly enjoyed or what you think is going to happen. Keep 'em coming!**

**Also, thank you to the lovely BlackAquoKat for Betaing for me!**

**Translations of Elvish and Dwarvish used ...**

"_**Gurth enin goth**_**!" - Death to the enemy!**

"_**Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" - Axes of the Dwarves! The axes of the Dwarves are upon you!**_

**I always thought that the Elves of Lothlorien got a bit of a poor deal with the Battle of Helm's Deep in the films, particularly Haldir, whom I love. Also, in case it wasn't clear, it was the less-sentient and more wild Huorns, not the Ents, that killed the orcs … **

**Hope you are all staying safe and well during this time!**


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